POEMS. 


BY 


AUGUSTA    COOPER    BRISTOL 


BOSTON : 
PUBLISHED    BY    ADAMS    &    CO., 

No    25  BKOMFIELD  STREET. 


INTRODUCTION. 


JjTHE  following  volume  of  poems,  is  an  offering  from  one  of 
41  the  daughters  of  America.  The  author  is  successful  in 
J  translating  into  her  verse  some  of  the  finer  tone"  and  expe 
riences  of  the  womanly  heart.  By  a  word  or  epithet  she  some 
times  unlocks  a  new  avenue  of  thought.  Her  pure  spiritual 
genius  and  native  beauties  of  fancy  and  imagination,  will  not 
escape  the  reader.  We  seem  to  see  a  life  of  struggle  and  self- 
education,  of  earnest  aspiration  and  deep  Christian  trust  suf 
fusing  the  page.  So  poetry  rises  to  prophecy,  and  the  singer  of 
the  fair  and  beautiful,  becomes  the  teacher  of  everlasting  truth. 
We  commend  these  modest  pages  to  the  lovers  of  the  gentle 
Art,  assured  that  they  will  be  touched  anew  with  a  sense  of  the 
loveliness  of  nature,  and  the  grandeur  of  life,  as  they  follow  the 
clue  of  a  thoughtful,  humble  worshipper  of  God.  While,  then, 
the  great  organs  thunder  forth  in  Dantean  or  Miltonic  strains 
the  sublime  ccstacies  that  shake  the  soul,  we  will  not  disdain 
to  listen  to  the  gentle  lute,  which  wi*h  heavenly  melody, 
changes  the  common  air  to  music,  and  tells  us  of  that  love  of 
God  which  is  in  all  things,  least  and  greatest.  The  voice  of 
the  Sisterhood  as  well  as  tbat  of  the  Brotherhood,  is  needed  to 
complete  the  gammet.  This,  too,  is  of  God,  and  happy  is  it  in 
our  free  day  that  nothing  less  than  Humanity  in  its  wide  sweep 
of  experience,  capacity  and  aspiration  is  to  be  the  prophet- 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

poet,  and  sing  its  higher  and  wider  strains  than  the  epic,  or 
lyric  of  the  Past.  In  that  august  choir,  we  claim  a  seat  for  our 
gentle  singer,  and  a  part  in  the  majestic  melodies  of  life's  sub 
lime  oratorio  for  her  vox  humana. 

A.  A.  LIVERMORE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LILY 11 

ART-SCIENCE 15 

SPIRIT  HUNGER 17 

WHEN  THIS  OLD  EARTH  is  RIGHTED       ...  19 

PAST  AND  PRESENT 21 

THE  SOUL'S  PSALM  OF  TO-DAY        ....  26 

GARRISON 28 

THE  GREAT  CREATOR  —  GOD 32 

OUR  LINA 36 

REFLECTION  AND  PROPHECY      .....  39 

A  SUMMER  MORNING  HOUR  WITH  NATURE        .        .  45 

MY  HEAD  AND  HEART 47 

THE  OLD  SONG  AND  THE  NEW So 

HEART  AZALEAS 54 

THE  FIRST  MARRIAGE 56 

ENTITIES 61 

OUR  CHERUB  BOYS 64 

MASSACHUSETTS  AND  HER  CONVICT  .        .        .       .  66 

ANOTHER  LOVE 69 

THE  BIRD  SONG •  73 

RUINS       . 75 

LOVE  WORSHIP 76 

UPWARD 78 

ANGELINE 79 

NIGHT      .                                       82 

SUMMER  MORNING 84 

TRUTH'S  APOSTLE 87 

Loss  AND  GAIN    .        .       ...       .       .        .  89 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PASSED  ON  .        . 62 

BEFORE  THE  RAIN       .......         94 

AFTER  THE  RAIN    .      ;-.  .     i  •<->  a    ,-.  v  •        .        .      96 

LINCOLN  —  1865 98 

LINA'S  GRAVE  .        ...,*..        .100 

LINES    .  103 

OUR  COUNTRY         .       .       ....       .       .       .105 

SPIRIT  LOVE         ; 107 

LINES        .        .       .       .       .       ...  *        .no 

DEATH  IN  THE  HOUSE       .        .       .       ...        113 

MY  SPRING  GIFT     .        ...       ..        .        .116 

WHAT  DOES  THE  SEA  SAY?       .        .       .       .        .        119 

THY  HEART     .        .       .       .       .       ....    120 

SHADOWS      ....        .        .        .       .       .        121 

GRANDPARENTS        .        .        .        .        .        ...        .     122 

SOUL  CHARGES  .        .        .        .       ,        .        .        124 

THE  ADVENT  OF  THE  SEASONS. 
SPRING  .        .        .        .       .        ....        .        .125 

SUMMER 129 

AUTUMN       .       .'       .  '     .       .       .       .       .        -133 
WINTER 137 

POEMS  OF   THE    WAR. 

THE  CRIME  OF  THE  AGES     .       .  .       .       .143 

THE  UNION  SOLDIER  .       .       .       ..       .        .        .        145 

NEW  ENGLAND'S  ADVANCE    .       •       •       .       .       .146 
OUR  AMAZON  SISTER,  —  THE  WEST  ....        149 

RIGHT  TRIUMPHS    .       .       .       •  •      »       .•       •       •    152 
To  THE  NATIONS  OVER  THE  SEA       .       .       .       .        154 

SHOUT 160 

ARABEL'S  CHOICE 163 

PARTING 170 

WIDOWED .172 

MY  KING         .       .       .       .       .       .       .-  -  .        .    175 

ANOTHER  YEAR 178 

TERM  OF  SERVICE  ENDED 181 

THE  SOLDIER'S  WIFE  AT  EVENING    ....        187 
GOD  REIGNS  IN  THE  EARTH 189 


POEMS. 


of  HE  Rose  had  bloomed  in  Eden.     Odors  new 
4 1    Entranced  the  groves,  and  iridescent  birds 

j    At  this  new  birth  of  beauty,  sudden  rose 
In  richest  chorus,  bearing  up  the  balm 
Upon  their  beating  wings.     The  bee  had  learned 
The  place  of  golden  sweets  ;  the  butterfly 
Loved  well  to  dream  within  those  crimson  folds, 
And  Eve  had  made  a  garland  delicate, 
Of  feathery  sprays,  and  leaves,  and  drooping  bells, 
And  placed  the  Rose,  the  queen  of  bloom,  above 
The  centre  of  her  brow.     Thus  she  bound  up 
The  golden  ripples  that  fell  down  and  broke 
O'er  her  white  breast,  hiding  the  bosom  buds, 
That  never  yet  had  yielded  up  their  sweets 
To  the  warm  pressure  of  an  infant's  lip, 
And  Eve  had  bent  above  the  glassy  lake, 
Smiling  upon  her  picture,  pressing  close 
The  soft  cheek  of  the  Rose  upon  her  own, 
And  for  the  gift  of  beauty,  praising  God. 


12  POEMS. 

But  now  a  morn  had  come,  more  strangely  dear 
Than  Eden  yet  had  known.     The  sleeping  wind 
Woke  not  to  stir  the  fringes  of  the  lake, 
Nor  shook  the  odors  from  the  scented  plant. 
A  silver,  misty  wreath  closed  fondly  down 
Above  the  waveless  tide.     The  insect  world 
Lay  waiting  in  the  leaves,  as  though  a  spell 
Had  hushed  Creation  ;  yet  expectant  thrills 
Ran  through  the  silence,  for  the  loaded  air 
Grew  lighter,  purer,  and  the  recent  Rose 
Drooped  her  proud  head  in  meekness,  and  the  face 
Of  heaven  flushed  with  a  hectic  brilliancy, 
Above  some  coming  wonder. 

One  by  one, 

The  beasts  and  birds  of  Paradise  came  down 
With  noiseless  movement  to  the  water's  edge, 
And  waited  on  the  margin.     Creatures  huge, 
With  honest  liquid  eyes,  and  those  that  stepped 
With  cushioned  feet,  and  feathered  footsteps,  stole 
About  the  brink,  with  all  the  tribe  that  gave 
The  forest  life.     The  serpent  reared  its  crest, 
Not  yet  polluted  with  the  valley's  dust, 
And  stood  like  one  with  royal  gems  encrowned ; 
While  beast,  and  bird,  and  serpent  turned  to  gaze 
Upon  each  other,  with  inquiring  eyes 
And  half  bewildered  glance. 

Then,  last  of  all, 

Came  Eve  with  Adam  to  the  circling  rim, 
Her  ringers,  grasping  roses,  and  her  lip 


POEMS.  I3 

All  beautiful  with  love's  own  witchery. 

She  stood  and  noted,  with  admiring  look, 

The  strength  of  Adam's  form,  the  expansive  chest, 

The  sloping  muscle,  and  the  sinew  knit, 

The  firm  athletic  limb,  and  every  grace 

Combined  and  joined  in  that  first,  perfect  man. 

Then  Eve,  grown  humble  in  her  wondrous  love 

Of  Adam's  beauty,  knelt  upon  the  turf, 

While  her  long  hair  fell  down  in  shining  waves, 

And  pressed  her  lip  upon  his  dew-washed  feet. 

Then  with  her  agitated  fingers  broke 

The  fox-glove  pitcher  from  the  stem,  and  stooped 

To  fill  it  up  for  him  ;  but  quickly  drew 

Her  pearl-white  hand  away  from  the  still  lake, 

And  held  it  o'er  her  heart,  with  such  a  look 

Of  awe  and  mystery,  as  if  a  spell 

Was  on  the  water,  that  she  dared  not  break. 

So  all  was  hushed  and  waiting :  when  behold ! 
A  flash  of  gold  shot  from  the  silver  East, 
A  gush  of  new  perfume  spread  through  the  grove  ; 
The  Rose  drooped  lower,  and  the  impatient  birds, 
Loosed  from  restraint,  sang  in  a  strain  refined, 
Of  dulcet  clearness,  such  as  those  young  bowers 
Had  never  heard  before.     The  beast  crouched  down 
Upon  the  velvet  turf,  the  Serpent's  crown 
Flashed  richer  splendor,  and  the  angel  band 
Whose  glancing  wings  gleamed  by  the  tree  of  Life, 
Their  very  plumes  were  tremulous  with  joy. 

Then  Eve  looked  o'er  the  swelling  wave,  and  lo ! 


I4  POEMS. 

The  lake  was  overspread  with  blooming  stars, 
Or  snowy,  golden  centred  cups,  that  rocked 
And  spilled  the  choicest  incense.     Adam  cried, 
"  The  Lily  !  "  but  the  sweet  voice  at  his  side, 
Grown  tremulous  and  faint  with  overjoy, 
Could  only  whisper,  "  Purity  !  "     Then  quick 
With  restless  hands  she  culled  the  floral  star  — 
Queen  of  the  wave  —  emblem  of  innocence,  — 
And  hung  it  in  the  lion's  matted  mane, 
Or  twined  it  round  the  Serpent's  glittering  neck, 
Thus  humoring  her  fancy  in  the  play, 
Till  half  the  morning  hours  had  slipt  and  gone. 
Then,  startled  by  the  voice  she  loved  so  well, 
She  left  the  sport,  the  creatures,  and  the  flowers, 
And  hastened  back  with  Adam  to  the  trees, 
Where  God  was  walking  in  the  solemn  shade. 

O  woman  frail,  thou  hast  not  known  a  tear  1 
Thy  spirit  clothed  in  simple  innocence, 
Weareth  a  garb  of  bliss  !     Not  yet  thy  hour 
Of  sorrow  and  departure,  nor  the  pangs 
And  mystery  of  motherhood  are  thine  ! 
Yet,  sinless  one,  some  day,  because  of  thee, 
God's  love  shall  give  a  Saviour  to  the  world  ! 


POEMS.  15 


|r  WANDERED  with  an  earnest  heart, 
||        Among  the  quarried  depths  of  Thought 
J       And  kindled  by  the  poet's  art, 
I  deftly  wrought. 

I  wrought  for  Beauty  ;  and  the  world 
Grew  very  green  and  smooth  for  me, 

And  blossom  banners  hung  unfurled 
On  every  tree. 

Upon  my  heated  forehead  lay 

The  cooling  laurel,  and  my  feet 
Crushed  honied  fragrance  out,  the  way 

Had  grown  so  sweet. 

And  Praise  was  servant  of  the  ear, 
And  Love  dropt  kisses  on  the  cheek, 

And  smiled  a  passion-thought  too  dear 
For  tongue  to  speak. 

But  one  day  the  ideal  Good 

Baptised  me  with  immortal  youth, 

And  in  sublimity  of  mood 
I  wrought  for  Truth. 


16  POEMS. 

Oh  then,  instead  of  laurel  crown, 
.     The  world  entwined  a  thorny  band, 
And  on  my  forehead  pressed  it  down 
With  heavy  hand. 

And  looks  that  used  to  warm  me,  froze ; 

I  lost  the  cheer,  the  odor  sweet, 
The  path  of  velvet;  —  glaciers  rose 

Before  my  feet. 

Yet  Truth  the  more  divinely  shone, 
As  onward  still  I  sought  to  press, 

And  gloriously  proved  her  own 
Almightiness. 

For  girded  in  her  armor  strong, 
And  lifted  by  her  matchless  arm 

Above  the  frozen  peak  of  Wrong, 
In  warmth  and  calm, 

I  sit,  and  white  thoughts,  lily  pure, 
Like  angels  close  my  heart  around, 

And  fold  me  gently  in,  secure 
From  cold  or  wound. 

O  kindred  poet-soul,  whose  lays 
Of  sweet  word-music,  set  in  line, 

Are  fashioned  for  the  World's  poor  praise, 
And  Beauty's  shrine,  — 

The  martyr's  spirit-wing  is  strong  ! 
Choose  thou  a  pinion  that  can  rise 


POEMS.  17 

With  Truth's  full  freight  of  clarion  song 
And  sweep  the  skies ! 

Then  shall  the  thoughts  that  in  thee  burn, 
Flame-reaching,  touch  the  thought  Divine  ; 

And  Man  may  scoff,  —  a  World  may  spurn, 
But  Heaven  is  thine. 


/|f  OME  to  me,  angels  !     The  room  of  my  spirit 
31 .  Is  garnished  and  swept  for  a  season  by  prayer 

j    I  have  cast  out,  just  to  win  you  anear  it, 
All  the  earth  vanities  brooding  in  there : 

Come  to  me  angels  ! 
Lift  for  a  moment  my  curtain  of  care  ! 

I  am  so  weary  of  earthly  supineness  — 
Life  that  is  levelled  to  labor  and  pay ! 
I  am  so  hungry  for  Nature's  divineness ! 
Hungry  to  talk  with  her  only  a  day : 

Come  to  me  angels ! 
Write  in  my  heart  the  sweet  words  she  would  say ! 

I  will  not  ask  that  your  presence  may  bring  me 
Glimpses  of  Heaven  ;  —  my  soul-reaches  are  low ; 


i8  POEMS. 

I  am  not  worthy  your  white  lips  should  sing  me 
One  of  the  songs  that  the  seraphim  know : 

Come  to  me  angels  ! 
Teach  me  God's  precious  revealments  below. 

Bear  on  your  wings,  in  your  coming  and  going, 
Wafts  of  His  breathing  o'er  prairie  and  lea  ! 
Bring  me  sweet  hints,  from  the  May  roses  blowing, 
Of  Deity's  thought  sprung  to  bloom  on  a  tree ! 

Come  to  me  angels  ! 
Tell  what  the  roses  are  keeping  for  me ! 

Open  to  me  by  a  sacred  impressment, 

Mysteries  hid  in  a  gurgle  of  song  ! 

Secrets  enfolded  in  purple  caressment, 

Close  in  the  tubes  where  the  honey-bees  throng ! 

Come  to  me  angels  ! 
Bearing  that  bird  and  bee  message  along  ! 

Often  I  think  by  the  sctntillant  gesture 

Of  sunbeam  and  cloud,  that  ihe  theme  of  the  sky, 

Is  only  pale  splendor  of  Deity's  vesture, 

With  glory  reduced  to  Mortality's  eye  : 

Come  to  me  angels, 
So  I  may  know  if  my  thought  is  a  lie ! 

Always  I  fancy  the  spirit's  ideal  — 
The  beauty  and  light  we  forever  pursue, 
Is  witness  within  us  of  One  who  is  real  ;  — 
God  faintly  mi  raged  to  Humanity's  view. 

Come  to  me  angels  ! 
Float  in  and  whisper  my  fancy  is  true ! 


POEMS.  19 


jjr  SEARCHED  the  volume  of  my  heart, 
II     I  spread  its  purple  lids  apart, 
j      Its  leaves  with  inspiration's  art, 

And  prophecy  indited  ; 
Entranced  with  trope  and  mystic  rhyme, 
I  caught  the  symphony  sublime, 
The  prelude  of  the  corning  time  j  — 

I  saw  the  old  Earth  righted. 

Thou  shalt  lay  cross  and  burden  down, 
Humanity  !  and  take  thy  crown, 
A  bride  of  Heaven  in  lily  gown, 

With  every  wrong  requited  ; 
Eithron.:  I  for  thy  acliia/smaat  vast, 
With  each  ideal  of  the  past 
One  grani  reality  at  last, 

Whan  thU  old  Earth  is  righted. 

Anil  nations  s'ull  not  thr.i,  as  now, 
The  cause  o!"  righteousness  avow, 
With  "egj"  wr.tten  o.i  the  brow ; 
But  each  to  each  united, 


20  POEMS. 

Shall  wear  the  badge  of  sacrifice, 
And  drop  the  hypocrite's  disguise, 
And  face  high  Heaven  with  honest  eyes 
When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 

No  more  before  Redemption's  gate, 
Stumbling  at  prejudice  and  hate, 
America  shall  hesitate, 

To  Liberty  half-plighted  ; 
For  truths  that  loosely  lie  apart, 
Shall  be  inwrought  into  the  heart, 
By  Reason's  skill,  and  Wisdom's  art, 

When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 

And  Freedom's  march  no  more  shall  pause 
At  God  Almighty's  broken  laws ; 
The  full  requirements  of  her  cause 

Shall  nevermore  be  slighted : 
Nor  civic  strategy  elude 
Equality  and  brotherhood  ; 
And  Justice  shall  pronounce  it  good, 

When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 

And  woman's  life  no  more  shall  be 
The  play-ground  of  hypocrisy, 
But  earnest,  natural,  and  free ; 

And  Love  shall  stay  unfrighted, 
And  reign  in  sacred,  sweet  content, 
And  offer  service  reverent ; 
For  marriage  shall  be  sacrament, 

When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 


POEMS.  21 

And  rolling  forward  to  the  Day, 
The  world  shall  bravely  make  essay, 
To  draw  heaven's  glory  round  its  way, 

That  seemed  so  long  benighted  ; 
And  every  whispering  wind  that  blows, 
The  rock,  the  fountain,  and  the  rose, 
And  trembling  leaf,  shall  God  disclose, 

When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 

Then  urge  thy  tardy  courser,  Time  ! 
We  watch  to  hail  the  blessed  prime  ! 
We  listen  for  the  morning  chime 

That  heralds  the  long-plighted  ! 
Humanity  and  the  Divine 
Shall  wed  at  Nature's  sacred  shrine, 
Completing  Infinite  design, 

When  this  old  Earth  is  righted. 


|J 


<isf  and 


|fN  the  month  of  June,  four  years  ago, 
31    When  the  Earth  her  early  roses  wore, 
j     I  walkeJ  though  yonder  green  arcade, 
A  path  I  ha  1  never  trod  before  ; 

On  the  poplars  tall, 

The  leaflets  all 


22  POEMS. 

Hung  down,  and  quivered  with  secret  \        : 

And  the  squirrel  brisk, 

With  chatter  and  frisk, 
Peeped  slily  at  Russell  Lee  and  me. 

The  cony  crept  from  her  burrowed  cell, 
And  winked  with  a  wonder  to  see  us  pass, 
And  the  preening  bird  that  perched  o'er  head, 
Never  flew  as  we  rustled  the  clover  grass, 

But  with  softer  trill, 

He  turned  his  bill 
To  his  mate,  that  brooded  above  the  nest, 

And  even  the  mole, 

From  his  subterrene  hole, 
Came  out  to  see  what  had  jarred  his  rest. 

The  wind,  that  had  been  with  the  leaves  all  day, 
Its  puffing  and  panting  suddenly  ceased  ; 
And  the  sun  reached  up  his  scintillant  hand, 
To  fling  a  kiss  to  the  distant  east ; 

The  wilding  rose 

In  her  scented  clothes, 
Wooed  into  her  bosom  the  amorous  bee, 

And  a  low,  weird  tongue 

In  the  tall  pine  sung, 
And  whispered  of  Russell  Lee  and  me. 

The  hurrying  day  hung  crimson  fringe 
On  cloudy  counterpanes  over  the  sky, 
And  spread  her  patch-work  of  blue  and  gold, 
And  heaped  the  embroidered  pillows  high  : 


POEMS.  23 

The  lakelet's  face, 

In  the  mead's  embrace, 
Came  smiling  up  to  a  sandy  shore, 

And  laughed  and  played 

By  the  green  arcade, 
Down  which  I  had  never  walked  before. 

Side  by  side  on  the  sandy  shore 
That  the  water  loved  to  lap  and  lave, 
We  stood  and  watched  two  shadows  thrown 
On  the  mirror-face  of  the  glassy  wave  ; 

The  lily  frail, 

So  cold  and  pale, 
Had  gathered  her  cloak  of  glaucous  hue, 

But  left  her  eye 

A  place  to  spy, 
The  movements  strange  of  the  shadows  two. 

We  saw  the  blossoming  flower  enfold 
The  sleeping  butterfly  into  its  breast, 
And  the  humble  willows  bending  down, 
The  cool  blue  lip  of  the  lakelet  prest : 

Who  '11  dare  to  say, 

In  that  hour  of  the  day, 
When  the  hills  received  the  kiss  of  the  sun, 

It  was  strange  or  queer 

In  that  day  of  the  year, 
If  the  shadows  two  became  but  one. 

The  sentinel  lily,  serene  and  chaste, 
Her  pure  eye  veiled  with  impulsive  start, 


24  POEMS. 

As  though  some  secret  was  luckily  caught, 
And  locked  down  close  to  her  golden  heart ; 

Frail  blossoming, 

Self-blinded  thing  ! 
Had  she  only  looked  her  white  dress  through, 

She  'd  have  wished  to  smile, 

For  all  of  the  while, 
She  was  hugging  and  kissing  a  drop  of  dew. 


'T  was  the  month  of  June,  four  years  ago, 
When  the  Earth  her  beautiful  blossoms  wore, 
That  I  walked  through  yonder  green  arcade  — 
A  path  I  had  never  trod  before  ; 

Was  it  strange  or  queer, 

In  that  day  of  the  year 
That  Russell  should  whisper  of  love  to  me  ? 

Was  it  out  of  the  way, 

In  that  hour  of  the  day, 
If  I  loved  to  be  loved  by  Russell  Lee  ? 

I  wandered  the  self-same  path  to-day, 

And  the  boughs  that  arched  and  shadowed  it  o'er, 

All  shook  with  a  madder,  merrier  glee, 

Than  they  ever  had  done  four  years  before ; 

On  the  poplars  tall, 

The  leaflets  all 
Hung  quivering  now  with  intenser  glee, 

For  instead  of  two, 

Their  curious  view, 
Surprisingly  counted  a  group  of  three. 


POEMS.  25 

Above  and  around  was  the  olden  glow, 
For  Russell  and  I  were  there  again, 
While  half  exultant,  we  proudly  drew 
A  miniature  carriage  —  a  hooded  wain  ; 

And  we  turned  to  bless, 

With  a  mute  caress, 
The  baby-boy  in  his  winsome  glee, 

For  the  eyes  that  look 

From  that  pillowy  nook, 
Are  much  like  the  eyes  of  Russell  Lee. 

And  that  was  the  reason  the  cony  jumped, 
And  the  squirrel  gamboled  and  played  about, 
And  the  preening  bird,  he  guessed  full  well 
The  cause  of  the  saucy,  frisky  rout : 

And  the  lily  frail, 

So  cold  and  pale, 
No  longer  her  serious  cloak  closed  up, 

But  humbler  grown, 

On  her  sentinel  throne, 
She  yielded  the  sweets  of  her  odorous  cup. 

We  stood  again  on  the  sandy  shore, 
Where  the  waters  come  up  to  lap  and  lave ; 
Two  shadows  were  there,  and  a  tinier  shade 
Between  them,  darkened  the  crystal  wave  ; 

And  just  as  the  dew 

Distilled  from  the  blue, 
4-nd  Nature  received  the  kiss  of  the  sun, 

When  the  panting  breeze 

Was  embracing  the  trees, 
I  saw  three  shadows  become  but  one. 


26  POEMS. 


/i  JA  .J  J- 

fo  lout's  psalm  of  |o-lag. 


i 


LINGER  not  to  parley  or  decry ; 
I  raise  no  question  of  my  work  or  wages ; 
But  ravished  with  divinest  forces,  ply 
The  task  of  ages. 


I  may  not  to  the  future  give  my  heed ; 
I  cannot  turn  to  pour  the  old  libation  ; 
I  wed  my  energies  to  present  need 
And  inspiration. 

Yet  am  I  cognizant  of  linkings  vast ; 
My  feet  essay  to  run  these  shining  courses, 
With  the  full  impetus  of  all  the  past 
Eternal  forces. 

The  Rose  will  turn  her  bosom  to  the  skies, 
And  blossoms  shape  in  amber  light  their  fruitage, 
Though  the  lymph  currents  of  their  natures  rise 
Through  cold,  dark  rootage. 

For  me  the  holy  dawnings  of  To-Day,  — 
The  sacred  glory  of  a  present  morning ; 
Yet  do  I  hold  the  old  and  out-grown  way, 
In  love,  not  scorning. 


POEMS.  27 

For  a  faint  sweetness  from  the  ancient  time, 
Floats  'round  me,  and  an  aroma  discloses, 
Wedded  in  essence  to  this  blessed  prime, 
And  Truth's  fresh  roses. 

The  solemn,  sacred  stars  are  not  displaced 
By  the  effulgence  of  the  Dawn's  adorning, 
And  pale  orbs  of  the  past  are  but  embraced 
In  all  this  morning. 

I  feed  upon  a  harmony  sublime  — 
God's  music  stereotyped  on  instant  pages  ; 
Yet  hear  a  silver  and  concordant  chime 
Steal  down  the  ages. 

I  hold  a  sacred  commerce  with  the  skies ; 
I  link  the  centuries  ;  I  close  the  suture 
Of  an  eternal  arch  that  unifies 
The  Past  and  Future. 

Infinity  behind  me,  and  before  ! 
Infinity  above  me  and  beneath  me  1 
Creative  Energy  can  neither  more 
Nor  less  bequeath  me. 

Around,  within,  the  authoritative  call 
Commanding  and  revealing  instant  duty : 
And  the  obedience  and  pursuit  is  all 
Celestial  beauty. 

And  thus  I  languish  for  no  future  store 
Of  being  raptured  by  Divine  accession, 
But  hold  such  transport,  now  and  evermore, 
In  full  possession. 


tS  POEMS. 


arnson. 


little  nation  grew  apace, 
II     And  towering,  took  its  lofty  stand, 

j     Like  perfect  things  that  cannot  fall ; 
Yet,  though  the  land  was  rich  in  grace, 
And  church  spires  rose  on  every  hand, 
One  high  heart  over-topped  them  all. 

One  high  heart  nearest  pressed  to  God  I 
One  arm  in  all  that  people  throng, 
A  giant  sin  could  boldly  smite  ! 
One  stood  on  Massachusetts'  sod, 
And  faced  the  nation's  demon  Wrong, 
With  unadulterated  Right ! 

His  great  soul  saddened.     He  had  plead 
With  those  whose  wealth  blocked  up  the  street, 
Or  lost  upon  the  ample  sea, 
To  turn  upon  the  shadow  dread, 
Fearless  the  monster's  strength  to  meet, 
And  deal  it  death  at  Freedom's  knee. 

He  thought  men's  hearts  were  all  equipped, 
And  only  waited  for  a  tongue 
To  waken,  to  arouse,  to  lead. 


POEMS.  29 

Here  his  pure  estimate  was  tripped. 

The  word  on  which  great  names  were  strung, 

Was  but  a  substitute  for  greed. 

'T  was  hard,  —  this  unexpected  freeze  1 

With  charities  all  torrid  warm, 

To  slip  so  sudden  to  the  poles ! 

To  learn  that  great  men  at  their  ease, 

With  air  complaisant,  rotund  form, 

Thought  ledgers  more  than  human  souls  ! 

Then  to  his  inward  strength  he  spoke,  — 
Spoke  to  the  grandeur  of  his  will, 
And  said,  "  We  '11  turn  for  aid  elsewhere. 
One  came  to  break  the  bondman's  yoke  5 
Men  worship  him  j  our  ranks  will  fill, 
Enlisting  from  the  altar  stair." 

They  thought  (who  took  the  bread  and  wine), 
Such  suppers  should  be  ate  in  peace ; 
A  worldly  breeze  should  not  sweep  up 
The  aisle,  to  bring  in  cry  and  whine 
Of  woes  petitioning  surcrease, 
And  soil  the  dear  communion  cup. 

Not  knowing  this,  he  hopeful  turned 
From  counters  to  white  neck-cloths,  sure 
Of  strength  all  marshalled  for  his  need  ; 
But,  —  hateful  lesson  to  be  learned  — 
His  understanding  seemed  obscure  — 
Men's  love  of  God,  meant  love  of  creed. 


POEMS. 

And  so  his  great  soul  saddened.     Yet 

Resolve  abated  not,  but  grew, 

Now  that  he  stood  to  fight  alone. 

A  few  heroic  natures  met, 

A  few  hearts  gathered,  grand  and  true, 

Round  the  rejected  corner  stone. 

No  easy  chairs  of  Church  or  State, 
No  names  that  poets  love  to  wreathe, 
No  places  at  the  Capitol, 
No  levels  with  the  affluent  great, 
No  sounding  titles  to  bequeathe 
To  some  immortal  procotol, 

These  men  and  women  asked  of  God. 
They  asked  Him  for  the  sword  of  Truth ; 
They  prayed  him  for  a  lightning  word 
To  smite  the  Oppressor's  heavy  rod, 
And  melt  the  stony  heart  to  ruth  ; 
For  tongues  of  flame  that  would  be  heard. 

That  matchless  sword  laid  bare  the  Wrong, 

However  subtily  arrayed, 

Though  senate  chambers  shut  it  in  ! 

Struck  out  at  Boston,  yet  so  long, 

At  Washington  the  dreaded  blade 

Stabbed  like  a  sabre  ;  —  not  a  pin  ! 

And  men  grew  sore,  and  hissed  with  hate, 
That  leader  with  the  sword  and  flame,  — 
That  power  to  Freedom's  service  lent ; 


POEMS.  31 

And  gnashing  on  her  advocate, 
They  felt  the  heart-throbs  of  the  same, 
Pulse  underneath  the  government 

Then  other  men,  a  gathered  host, 
Arrayed  in  more  attractive  garb, 
Essayed  to  check  the  growing  Wrong : 
The  word  Oppression  hated  most, 
They  spoke  not :  whittled  down  the  barb, 
Concealed  the  sabre  and  the  prong. 

'T  was  nothing  but  a  wicked  hoax,  — 

Accoutred  with  a  straw  or  hair, 

To  tickle  'round  a  sin  so  foul ! 

As  if  the  tongue  must  praise  and  coax, 

Before  a  lifted  hand  should  dare 

To  let  the  light  in  on  an  owl  1 

Thank  God,  those  foolish  days  are  past ! 

Caught  in  a  strait,  the  civic  hand 

Must  rout  the  Wrong,  or  write  "  Undone ! " 

And  Freedom's  temple,  strong  and  vast, 

Goes  grandly  up  to  fill  the  land, 

With  purer  brightness  than  the  Sun  ! 

And  on  that  dome,  a  million  hands, 
Trembling  with  ardor  over-much, 
Carve  at  the  word  "  Emancipate  ; " 
And  crowds  drawn  in  from  all  the  lands, 
Go  pressing  up  but  just  to  touch 
The  hand  that  wrote  the  Proclamate ! 


32  POEMS. 

And  though  I  walk  with  burning  gaze 
Within  that  temple ;  though  I  cast 
My  full  voice  with  the  current  tone 
That  over-flows  with  love  and  praise. 
Yet  do  I  tarry,  first  and  last, 
To  worship  at  the  corner  stone. 


Jr  WALKED  with  Nature  alone  one  day, 

Jl     And  sought  to  discern  the  sound, 

T     That  murmured  up  from  the  growing  shrub 

And  leafy  tongues  around, 

The  field-bell  opened  her  yellow  hood, 

To  let  me  look  in  her  eye, 

And  the  king-cups  lifted  their  heads  to  bow, 

Whenever  I  sauntered  by ; 

The  faintest  noise  of  a  sighing  breath 

From  the  heart  of  the  rose  came  up, 

And  I  bent  my  ear  to  the  musical  hum 

In  the  blue-bells  tiny  cup  ; 

And  clustered  violets,  faint  and  dim, 

Were  stooping  so  near  the  sod, 

That  I  knew  by  the  daisy's  tearful  eye, 

They  whispered  together  of  God. 


POEMS.  33 

I  walked  in  the  woodland's  solemn  shade, 

Where  gums  and  dew-drops  drip  ; 

Where  mosses  embrace  the  dead  old  trees, 

And  kiss  with  a  clinging  lip  ; 

The  brave  old  oak,  —  the  monarch  oak, 

Swung  forward  his  giant  arm, 

And  the  infant  trees  at  his  gesture  wide, 

Waved  shivering  with  alarm  ; 

They  knew,  perhaps,  that  a  mighty  theme 

Their  forest  king  had  stirred  ; 

And  stiff  and  solemn  the  hemlocks  stood, 

As  if  they  too  had  heard  ; 

The  tasselled  pine,  with  a  trembling  moan, 

Reeled  forward  and  back  in  the  air, 

And  threw  her  quivering  fingers  up 

To  the  sky,  as  if  in  prayer  ; 

Then  my  quick  ear  oped  to  the  strange  refrain 

Around  the  path  I  trod, 

And  I  caught  a  note  ere  it  closed  again ; 

And  the  word  I  heard  was,  "  God." 

I  tarried  for  rest  in  a  valley  cool, 

Where  fluttered  the  wayward  gale  ; 

And  out  from  the  dark  green  thicket's  shade, 

Came  down  the  wind-god's  wail ; 

The  breeze  died  sobbing  upon  my  brow, 

Then  started  to  life  again, 

And  hurried  away  to  the  shrieking  hills, 

To  groan  with  a  secret  pain  ; 

It  shouted  hoarse  to  the  mountains  old, 

And  the  mountains  answered  back  ; 


34  POEMS. 

But  the  song  grew  sweetly  low  and  mild, 

As  it  neared  the  valley's  track  ; 

Then  it  came  like  an  angel's  breath  to  me, 

And  fainting  down  to  the  sod, 

It  sighed  a  hymn  on  the  clover's  neck, 

But  all  that  I  heard  was  "God." 

I  walked  by  the  sea,  —  the  tinted  sea, 

Where  the  ships  go_  sailing  by  : 

The  calm  old  ocean  lay  on  his  back, 

To  smile  in  the  face  of  the  sky  : 

But  a  sound  came  up  from  the  caves  low  down, 

And  he  trembled  all  over  with  joy, 

And  shook  and  danced,  that  old  gray  sea, 

As  though  he  were  only  a  boy ; 

He  hurried  past  the  beautiful  isles, 

And  tost  like  a  bubble  the  ships, 

In  his  haste  to  kiss  the  virgin  beach 

With  his  blue  and  foaming  lips  ; 

Then  the  storm  arose,  and  with  blackened  wings, 

Hung  brooding  over  the  main, 

Till  the  wakened  sea  —  the  monster  sea, 

I  could  hear  him  wild  complain  : 

Then  they  joined  in  one  —  the  dark-winged  storm, 

And  the  sea  with  terrible  roar  ; 

And  the  white-haired  waves,  grown  gray  in  an  hour, 

Fell  swooning  back  to  the  shore  ; 

But  the  cloudy  monarch  was  blanched  with  dread, 

And  quailed  at  the  ocean's  frown, 

So  slowly  lifting  his  wide  wings  up, 

With  tear-drops  glittering  down, 


POEMS.  35 

He  floated  away,  with  a  sweet  sad  voice, 
To  the  orange  sun  in  the  west, 
While  ocean  lay  with  a  murmur  down, 
On  his  jewelled  floor  to  rest ; 
Then  a  still  small  voice,  from  the  coral  hall, 
Where  the  sea-nymph's  feet  had  trod, 
Trembled  up  through  the  dimpling  violet  wave, 
And  chanted  to  me  of  God. 

I  watched  the  Night,  in  her  dark  gray  barge, 

When  the  world  was  fast  asleep, 

Sail  proudly  up  from  the  lonely  East, 

Across  heaven's  glittering  deep ; 

The  moon  was  pushing  the  clouds  aside, 

From  her  beautiful  brilliant  way, 

And  the  stars  were  blinking  and  shining  out. 

As  though  for  a  mere  display ; 

But  the  queenly  Night,  —  the  saintly  Night, 

With  her  gracious,  majestic  brow  ! 

The  stars  were  forming  a  magical  word, 

On  the  front  of  her  gloomy  prow. 

But  distant  and  far  as  that  gray  barge  was, 

From  my  seat  on  the  mossy  sod, 

I  could  dimly  trace  the  characters  there, 

And  the  word  that  I  spelled  was  "  God." 

The  pass-word  of  all  created  things, 

Was  this  I  had  heard  and  read, 

From  the  tiniest  blossom  on  Earth's  green  vest, 

To  the  throbbing  stars  o'erhead. 

Then  I  closed  my  eyes  to  the  outer  world, 


36  POEMS. 

And  silently  gazed  within, 

To  the  heart's  dim  cells,  where  the  lamp  of  lov  : 

Burned  low  in  a  fog  of  sin  ; 

Then  I  bent  me  down  in  a  loved  surprise, 

Till  my  forehead  touched  the  sod  ; 

For  the  harpers  of  Truth  in  the  human  he? 

Were  chanting  to  me  of  God. 


itr 


Lines  respectfully  inscribed  to  MR.  and  MRS.  XENOPHON 
PHILLIPS  and  family,  Berlin  Heights,  Ohio. 

fHE  came  with  the  advent  of  beautiful  things  ;  — 
Of  roses,  bird-music,  and  butterfly  wings  ; 
There  was  June  on  her  brow,  and  the  generous 

skies 

Had  dropped  their  pure  stars  in  her  amethyst  eyes, — 

Our  Lina. 

Each  birth-day  that  came,  we  could  measure  and  trace 
The  growth  of  her  soul,  through  her  beautiful  face  ; 
Caught  its  sparkle  and  flash  ;  and  we  set  her  apar' 
In  our  treasures  of  love,  as  a  gem  of  God's  Art  — 

Our  Lina. 


POEMS.  37 

Sixteen  times  had  the  June  with  its  tremulous  arm, 
From  the  breast  of  the  Rose,  shook  the  odor  and  balm, 
Till  it  drooped  its  pale  leaves  and  hung  faint  in  the 

sun, 
And  had  crowned  her  at  last,  child  and  woman  in 

one,  — 

Our  Lina. 

Earth  claimed  her.     The  songs  in  the  meadows  and 

bowers, 

All  held  in  the  chorus  of  each  "  She  is  ours  ; " 
But  the  angels  knew  better ;   for  they,  looking  down, 
Thought  her  soul  out  of  place  in  its  chrysalis  gown — 

Our  Lina. 

Then  out  from  the  pearl  and  the  jasper  above, 
The  messenger  came.     With  as  tender  a  love 
As  a  mother's  who  bears  her  white  bosom  and  sings, 
He  folded  her  soul,  and  she  took  on  her  wings,  — 

Our  Lina. 

Heaven  opens  to  Nature.  The  world  was  so  gay, 
That  the  birds  and  the  blossoms  all  kept  holiday. 
We  only  were  blind.  Earth  endeavored  to  teach 
The  bliss  of  the  angel,  too  high  for  our  reach,  — 

Our  Lina. 

The  clover  and  phlox  the  intelligence  told, 
And  all  the  rich  butter-cups  scattered  their  gold ; 
The  purple  bells  spilt  their  sweet  wine  on  the  ground, 
Jn  an  impulse  of  joy  just  to  see  her  encrowned,  — 

Our 


38  POEMS. 

What  a  gush  of  rich  sound  to  the  thicket  was  given ! 
For  the  jubilant  Earth  caught  the  anthem  of  Heaven  ; 
And  iris-hued  birds  winging  out  o'er  the  lake, 
In  their  glorious  songs  all  her  rapture  bespake,  — 

Our  Lina. 

If  the  beauty  that  lies  on  the  wave  and  the  plain, 
Is  a  reflex  of  Heaven,  we  can  guess  at  her  gain ; 
But  our  hearts  draw  together,  we  feel  so  alone ; 
And  dark  is  the  nest  since  the  white  dove  has  flown, — 

Our  Lina. 

Brood  over  us,  Christ !     What  can  lessen  our  cold 
But  the  warmth  of  thy  pity  ?  Oh  strengthen  and  hold 
Our  weak  human  hands  !  Turn  our  crimson  to  white, 
And  lead  on  the  way  to  our  life  and  our  light, — 

Our  Lina. 


POEMS.  39 


faction  ami 


I.  PAST. 
jjf  STAND  in  the  halo  of  morning,  —  the  dawn  that 

follows  the  twilight  ; 
J     Fixed  on  the  mount  of  the  Present  —  the  monu 

ment  of  the  Ages  : 
A  product  and  imaged  resultant  of  centuries  lying 

behind  me, 

From  pedestal  high  and  central  I  glance  at  my  ante 
cedents. 

Life  was  the  gift  that  was  real,  back  in  Humanity's 

twilight  : 
Mind,  unknown  to  itself,  had  formed  no  law  for  its 

passions  : 
Kindness  was  born  of  an  impulse  ;  revenge  was  an 

untamed  justice  ; 
Sentiments  acted  spontaneous,  checked  by  no  limi 

tation 
Of  statute,  and  lacking  all  guidance  or  modification 

of  culture. 

*  This  poem  was  composed  after  reading  "  Thorndale  ;  "  and 
it  is  likely  that  many  of  the  ideas  herein  expressed  originated 
with  the  author  of  that  volume,  but  were  so  ingrained  into  my 
thought,  that  they  came  to  seem  as  my  own.  They  must  at 
least  have  been  suggested  by  a  perusal  of  the  work  referred  to. 


40  POEMS. 

Man,  the  observant  of  Nature,  gazed  at  the  forest 

majestic, 

Lifting  its  foliage  daily  higher  into  the  sunlight, 
Gazed  at  the  growth  and  the  rootage  of  herbage  and 

all  vegetation, 
Reading  their  insinuations  of  mystery  lying  beneath 

them. 
Raising  his  eye  at  midnight,  and  watching  the  solemn 

pageant 
And  glory  of  stars,  that  never  had  halted  yet  in  their 

marching,  — 
Moving   in  mystic  rhythm  and  strange  harmonious 

measure  — 
The  measure  in  which  Night  always  her  star-written 

poem  advances  — 
He  pondered  the  intimations  of  mystery  lying  above 

them. 
Standing  alone  with  Nature,  when  sunrise  lay  on  the 

water, 

Over  the  cup  of  the  lotus,  he  bent  to  study  and  listen, 
Peradventure    to    catch   a  hint  of  the  origin  of  its 

beauty. 
Missing   ambiguous   words    of  laws    and  primitive 

forces, 
Gliding  by  all  their  occultness,  he  passed  to  a  God 

that 's  behind  them. 
Thus   there  were  inward  revealings  of  one  who  is 

more  than  creation, 
Yet  he  was  throned  in  the  gloom  of  the  cloud  that 

belches  in  thunder, 
With  passions  that  flashed  in  the  lightning,  for  God 

was  a  being  of  terror. 


PVEMS.  41 

But  light  stole  into  the  twilight :  Humanity's  vision 
was  clearer  ; 

Out  of  spontaneous  passion  there  grew  a  law  for  the 
people  ; 

Out  of  revenge  that  was  thoughtless,  came  forth  retri 
bution  vindictive : 

An  eye  for  an  eye  the  rule  that  checked  the  aggres 
sion  of  evil. 

Imagination's  conceptions  were  carried  up  to  the 
Reason, 

And  studied  under  the  ray  of  the  little  light  she  had 
gathered. 

The  lightning  garments  of  God,  were  changed  for  the 
robe  of  Justice, 

And  threading  the  thoughts  of  men  there  lurked  a 
prophecy  latent, 

That  surely  a  time  was  coming,  to  join  the  divine 
and  human. 

II.   PRESENT. 
First  was  the  gift  of  existence.     Reflection  on  life 

followed  after  : 
And  now  while  I  stand  in  the  dawn-light,  a  growth 

of  the  by-gone  ages, 
I  turn    to    examine    surroundings-— the  forces  and 

powers  of  the  Present* 
Humanity  works  in  the  harness,  and  Law  is  director 

and  driver  ; 
But  man,  growing  noble,  forgets  the  penalty  fixed  to 

the  statute, 
And  moves  in  obedience  cheerful,  to  win  the  esteem 

of  his  fellows : 


4i  POEMS. 

At  once  discharging  a  duty,  and  shunning  the  state 

of  demerit. 
A  branch  of  the  stout  tree  of  Justice,  that  centuries 

nourished  and  tended, 
Has  put  forth  a  single  white  flower,  and  the  name  oi 

the  blossom  is  "  Mercy." 
The    lamp   of  Reason   has   brightened  to  light  no 

longer  uncertain, 
With  flame  that  steadily  waxes,  suggestive  of  glorious 

promise. 
White  is  the  throne  of  Jehovah  ;  His  judgments  stern 

and  relentless, 
Changed  with  the  spirit  of  man,  seen  tempered  with 

love  and  kindness. 

Material  science  opposes  the  inward  science  of  spirit. 
Acts  are  more  than  a  thought,  as  fruitage  is  higher 

than  rootage. 
Deeds  are  the  culmination  of  roots  grown  into  the 

spirit, 
The  secret  of  whose  sweet  trouble,  breaks  out  at  last 

into  roses, 
Which  overrun  sects  and  dogmas  : — 'those  bristling 

and  troublesome  hedges, 
That  change  God's  one  grand  meadow  to  cramped, 

insignificant  pastures. 
But  Christ,  who  worked  in  the  inner,  is  now  subduing 

the  outer  : 
The  laborer  never  supposing  he  serves  with  sinew 

and  muscle 
The  self-same  kingdom  and  Master  that 's  served  by 

the  thought  of  the  preacher. 


POEMS.  43 


III.  FUTURE. 

Now  as  I  stand  on  the  hill-top,  bathing  in  early  re 
fulgence, 

Poet  and  prophet  at  once,  I  point  to  the  glory  that 's 
coming, 

Point  to  the  kingdom  complete,  the  tuistical  age  of 
the  future. 

Up  from  the  epoch  of  impulse,  up  from  the  era  of 
statute, 

Man  shall  arise  at  last  to  the  plane  of  a  God-like 
freedom  — 

Humanity  grown  to  a  height  that  touches  the  hand 
of  Jehovah. 

As  God  is  a  law  to  himself,  the  soul  shall  be  self- 
legislator, 

In  harmony  always  with  Christ,  the  normal  condition 
of  freedom. 

Man  shall  be  brought  to  perceive  the  harmonious 
whole  of  Creation  : 

Conscious  of  God's  idea,  shall  pattern  his  own  there 
after. 

The  good  of  the  whole,  the  law  he  passes  in  self- 
legislation, 

The  good  of  the  whole,  the  rule  that  lines  and  levels 
his  action. 

Outward  science  no  longer  shall  scofY  at  the  science 
of  spirit, 

But  reaching  the  hand  of  love,  shall  recognize  their 
relation. 


44  POEMS. 

Philosophy  and  Religion,  moving  in  measure  together. 
Sisters  in  aim,  co-working  and  serving  the  self-same 

Master. 
All  shall  commune  with  Christ,  his  kingdom  of  love 

extending 
O'er    all    intelligent   life,  and  embracing  inanimate 

nature. 
Man  shall  see  inward  existence,  in  atom,  rain-drop, 

and  leaflet. 
Man    shall    see    God  in  the  granite,  and  smell  his 

breath  in  the  lily. 
The  columns  of  Heaven,  and  pillars  supporting  the 

throne  of  Jehovah, 
Shall    sink    in    the  heart  of  Humanity,  linking  the 

earthly  and  heavenly  ; 
So  there  shall  be  one  glory  embracing  Creator  and 

Creature. 
A  word  large  with  nobleness,  —  "  grace  "  —  shall  be 

chosen  for  God  by  the  Reason, 
Suggestive  of  pardon,  and  life  created  anew  in  the 

spirit. 
Such  is  the  brightness  for  man  and  for  earth  in  the 

far-off  cycles  ! 
Such  is  the  rainbow-promise  that  hangs  in  the  sky  of 

the  Present ! 


POEMS.  45 


jl   summer  flormmj  IWtr  utitlt  Mint. 

^j     "j  *j  'S/  <g 


Jjf  HE  Night  has  gathered  up  her  moonlit  fringes 
Jl  And  curtains  gray, 

J      And  orient  gates,  that  turn  on  silver  hinges, 
Let  in  the  Day. 

The  morning  sun  his  golden  eye-lash  raises 

O'er  eastern  hills  ; 
The  happy  summer  bird,  with  matin  praises 

The  thicket  fills. 

And  Nature's  dress,  with  softly  tinted  roses 

And  lilies  wrought, 
Through  all  its  varied  unity  discloses 

God's  perfect  thought. 

Sweet  Nature  !  hand  in  hand  with  her  I  travel 

Adown  the  mead, 
And  half  her  precious  mysteries  unravel, 

Her  scripture  read. 

And  while  the  soft  wind  lifts  her  tinted  pages, 

And  turns  them  o'er, 
My  heart  goes  back  to  one  in  by-gone  ages 

Who  loved  her  lore, 


46  POEMS. 

And  symbols  used,  of  harvest  field,  and  fountain, 

And  breezy  air ; 
Who  sought  the  sacred  silence  of  the  mountain 

For  secret  prayer. 

Oh  drop,  my  soul,  the  burden  that  oppresses, 

The  cares  that  rule, 
That  I  may  prove  the  whispering  wildernesses, 

Heaven's  vestibule ! 

For  I  can  hear,  despite  material  warden 

And  earthly  locks, 

A  still,  small    voice,  —  and  know  that  through  his 
garden 

The  Father  walks. 

The  fragrant  lips  of  dewy  flowers  that  glisten 

Along  the  sward, 
Are  whispering  to  my  spirit  as  I  listen, 

"It  is  the  Lord!" 

And  forest  monarchs  tell  by  reverent  gesture 

And  solemn  sigh, 
That  the  veiled  splendor  of  his  awful  vesture 

Is  passing  by. 

The  billows  witness  Him.     No  more  they  darkle, 

But  Ijap  to  lave 
The  silent,  marching  feet  that  leave  a  sparkle 

Along  the  wave. 


POEMS.  47 

And  sweet  aromas,  fresher  and  intenser, 

The  gales  refine ; 
The  odor  floating  from  the  lily's  censer, 

Is  breath  divine. 

Nature  —  Heaven's  priestess — yieldeth  precious  wit 
ness 

And  large  reply, 
To  him  who  comes  to  her  with  inward  fitness 

Of  harmony. 

Who  seeks  her  door  with  calm  interrogation. 

And  reverent  knock, 
With  motive  pure,  and  chaste  communication,  — 

She  will  not  mock. 

But  open  wide  her  penetralia  portal, 

And  bid  her  guest 
Drink  from  the  precious  streams  of  truth  immortal 

That  vein  her  breast. 


i 


and 


'M  weary  of  the  strife  between 
My  head  and  heart ; 
Each  struggles  for  the  sovereign  sway, 


48  POEMS. 

Yet  only  one  can  I  obey, 
For,  serve  and  follow  which  I  may, 
They  lead  apart. 

"  Heed  me,"  cries  heart,  "  nor  once  from  my 

Instructions  swerve  ! 
'T  is  not  as  precious  to  be  free 
And  homeless,  as  to  stay  by  me, 
And  braid  love's  blessed  garland  1    Be 

Content  to  serve  !  " 

But  head,  all  regal,  pleads  her  right 

Legitimate : 

"  Soul,  follow  me  !    Take  on  thy  wings, 
And  thou  shalt  learn  divinest  things 
From  all  that  Nature  says  and  sings  I 

Live  to  create  !  " 

Then  heart  puts  in  again  her  sweet 

Persuasive  tone : 
"  I,  only  I,  to  life  can  add, 
Touches  that  thrill  and  tones  that  glad  ;  — 
Love's  warmth  !  —  A  woman's  soul  is  sad 

To  be  alone." 

But  head  with  voice  of  calm  command 

Still  argues  fair, 

That  wisdom's  glance  illuminate, 
And  spirit  quickenings  inspirate, 
For  human  love  shall  compensate, 

And  make  repair. 


POEMS.  49 

Thus,  listening  to  each  in  turn, 

My  life  wears  on  j 
Oh  could  I  only  once  arise, 
Yet  hold  love's  sweetness  in  my  eyes, 
The  while  I  soar  and  sweep  the  skies, 

And  join  the  dawn  1 

Oh  for  a  friend  exceptional 

And  heavenly  great ! 
That,  worshipping  creative  mind,  — 
The  immortal  thought,  illumed,  refined, — 
Will  keep  the  heart's  dear  gifts  enshrined, 

Inviolate  ! 

Oh  for  a  king  with  power  to  hold 

Miraculous  reign  ! 
To  let  my  fond  heart  have  her  way, 
And  reverence  her  passion  play, 
Yet  not  one  single  fetter  lay 

Upon  the  brain ! 

Come  Death,  and  harmonize  the  powers 

That  draw  apart ! 
From  God's  almightiness  obtain 
A  compromise  between  the  twain, 
And  satisfy  my  hungry  brain 

And  yearning  heart  1 


50  POEMS. 


omj  and  Ife 


THE   OLD. 

«PLOSE  are  the  shadows  and  dim  is  the  day; 
JJI      God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

7     Twilight  encloselh  the  finite  for  aye ; 
God  is  away  from  the  world ! 
Outward  humanity  leaneth  in  vain, 
Straining  her  vision  a  witness  to  gain 
Of  the  background  of  being  —  the  infinite  plain  ;- 
God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

He  hath  no  part  in  the  voices  of  earth ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 

Man  hath  appraised  them  and  noted  their  worth; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

Gather  the  sounds  of  the  sea  and  the  air, 

Harmonies  subtle,  and  symphonies  rare,  — 

Still  not  a  whisper  from  Deity  there  : 

God  is  away  from  the  world ! 

Vainly  we  seek  with  the  eye  and  the  ear ; 
God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 
His  vesture  and  footprints  no  longer  appear ; 
God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 


POEMS.  51 

He  cometh  no  more  with  a  daily  accost 
To  the  finite  ;  the  garden  is  cold  with  the  frost, 
And  the  echoes  of  Eden  forever  are  lost ; 
God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

Heaven  hath  no  actual  commerce  with  man ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

He  hath  perfected  His  purpose  and  plan  ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

Creation  is  finished  ;  He  sitteth  apart 

In  a  glory  too  dread  for  the  scene  of  His  art ; 

Too  piercingly  pure  for  Humanity's  heart ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

Truth  is  not  ours  in  its  absolute  ray ;  — 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

Only  poor  gleams  of  the  actual  day  ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 

We  reach  not  the  substance ;  we  touch  but  the  screen ; 

Our  hope  is  the  victim  that 's  lifted  between 

The  real  and  seeming ;  the  Christ  —  Nazarine  ; 

God  is  away  from  the  world  ! 


THE    NEW. 

HEIRS  of  the  Morning,  we  walk  in  the  light ; 
Gocl  is  forever  with  man  ! 
A  day  that  hath  never  a  noon  or  a  night ; 
God  is  forever  with  man  ! 


52  POEMS. 

A  day  without  limit  whose  glories  unfold 
The  statutes  that  time  and  eternity  hold ; 
An  endless  becoming  its  measure  and  mold  ; 
God  is  forever  with  man ! 

He  sitteth  a  guest  in  Humanity's  soul ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Life  leadeth  on  to  an  infinite  goal ; 

God  is  forever  with  man ! 

Inward,  not  outward,  is  Deity's  shrine, 

The  Presence  Eternal  —  the  Spirit  Divine, 

And  being  becomes  immortality's  sign ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Truth  is  not  veiled  to  mortality's  eye  ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

We  have  a  witness  on  which  to  rely  ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

The  word  is  eternal,  and  cometh  to  each, 

And  the  inward  rebuke  with  its  yearning  beseech 

Is  the  sweet  modulation  of  Deity's  speech  ; 

God  is  forever  with  man ! 

Of  all  that  is  real  the  human  hath  part ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Our  roots  are  the  veins  of  the  Infinite  Heart ; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

The  Christ  liveth  ever  in  creature  disguise  j 

The  Logos  by  which  every  soul  shall  arise 

To  the  gospel  and  glory  of  self-sacrifice ; 

God  is  forever  with  man ! 


POEMS.  53 

Sing,  little  blue-bird,  the  message  ye  bring, 
God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Cleave  the  soft  air  with  a  rapturous  wing  j 
God  is  forever  with  man  ! 
Warble  the  story  to  forest  and  rill, 
Sweep  up  the  valley  and  bear  to  the  hill 
The  sacred  refrain  of  your  passionate  trill  j 
God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Open,  bright  roses,  and  blossom  the  thought; 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Precious  the  meaning  your  beauty  hath  wrought  j 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Spread  out  the  sweet  revelation  of  bloom, 

Lift  and  release  from  an  odorous  tomb, 

The  secret  embalmed  in  a  honied  perfume  j 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Dance  happy  billow,  and  say  to  the  shore, 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Echo,  sea-caverns,  the  truth  evermore, 

God  is  forever  with  man  ! 

Bear  on,  Creation,  the  symbol  and  sign, 

That  being  unfolds  in  an  aura  divine, 

And  soul  moveth  on  in  an  infinite  line 

God  is  forever  with  man. 


54  POEMS. 


fOFTLY  I  slept  in  the  green  of  my  garden ; 
Sweetly  I  dreamed  of  the  coming  of  dawn  ; 
Innocence  waited  as  watcher  and  warden  \ 
Keeping  the  curtain  of  mystery  drawn  ; 
But  miracles  came,  with  the  pulse  of  the  morning, 
Into  my  being  ;  —  I  woke  with  a  start ; 
For  the  young  tree  of  Love  without  budding  or  warn 
ing, 

Had  suddenly  sprung  into  bloom  in  the  heart. 
Love's  own  azalea !     Crimson  azalea ! 
Wonderful  bloom  in  the  green  of  the  heart  1 

Such  an  aurora  of  halo  resplendent, 
Seemed  to  the  world  and  the  universe  given  1 
Earth  was  enwrapt  in  a  glory  transcendent, 
Close  in  the  tender  embraces  of  Heaven. 
Oh  I  was  brave  in  an  ecstatic  passion ! 
Ruler  of  Fate,  and  creator  of  Art ! 
For  Love  is  the  empress  of  law  and  of  fashion, 
When  her  red  blossom  unfolds  in  the  heart. 
Love's  own  azalea  !     Crimson  azalea  ! 
Wonderful  bloom  in  the  green  of  the  heart ! 

Yet  while  I  exulted  and  laughed  in  the  morning, 
The  beautiful  blossom  was  touched  with  decay ; 


POEMS.  55 

Its  death  like  its  advent  had  come  without  warning, 
And  stolen  the  charm  of  existence  away : 
Oh  there  was  loneliness,  darkness,  and  sorrow  ! 
Faith  lifted  quickly  her  wing  to  depart ! 
Hope  had  no  promise  or  lease  of  to-morrow, 
When  the  red  bloom  had  dropt  out  of  my  heart. 
Love's  own  azalea,  —  Crimson  azalea  — 
Blossoms  but  once  in  the  green  of  the  heart* 

Then  to  the  desolate  places  of  spirit, 
Toilers  and  helpers  came  in  at  my  need  ; 
Over  the  furrows  of  scorn  and  demerit, 
Angels  were  stooping  to  scatter  the  seed. 
Oh  it  was  joy,  after  waiting  and  praying, 
To  feel  the  faint  pulse  of  the  buried  seed  start  1 
And  it  was  bliss  worth  the  pain  and  delaying, 
When  a  white  bud  opened  out  in  my  heart. 
Love's  white  azalea  !    Perfect  azalea  ! 
Slowly  it  grows  into  bloom  in  my  heart. 

Meanings  that  lurked  in  a  subtle  concealment, 
Now  to  my  purified  vision  are  given  ; 
Life  is  an  earnest  and  sacred  revealment  ; 
Earth  is  the  twilight  that  brightens  to  Heaven  : 
Duty  is  Beauty  in  saintlier  whiteness  ; 
Truth  is  sublimer  than  Genius  or  Art ; 
And  the  spectre  of  sorrow  is  crowned  with  a  bright 
ness 

As  pure  as  the  blossom  that  grows  in  my  heart  — 
Love's  white  azalea !    Perfect  azalea  ! 
Slowly  it  grows  into  bloom  in  my  heart. 


56  POEMS. 

Such  an  Eternity  opens  before  me  — 

Vision  o'er-matching  the  pain  and  the  cost ! 

While  Hope  ever  whispers  that  Heaven  will  restore 

me, 

The  essence  and  soul  of  the  blossom  I  lost ;  — 
Time  cannot  lessen,  and  doubt  cannot  smother 
The  hope  that  my  blossoms  will  each  form  a  part 
Of  the  Heaven  that  is  coming  ;  —  the  one  and  the 

other, 

To  open  for  aye  in  the  angelic  heart. 
Crimson  azalea !     Snowy  azalea  ! 
Love  has  no  loss  in  the  angelic  heart. 


9jf  HE  Morning  hours  were  slipping  one  by  one, 
3J|      Like  loosened  gems  from  Day's  revolving  crown, 

j      Still  Adam  slept.     A  thousand  starlike  eyes 
Had  opened  in  the  grass  on  Eden's  lawns, 
And  like  a  trimming  hung  in  the  deep  green 
Of  grove  and  thicket.     And  a  thousand  tongues 
Poured  their  cantatas  from  luxuriant  shades, 
And  the  quick  rustling  of  unnumbered  wings 
Troubled  the  sleepy  breeze,  until  it  sprang 
To  a  bold  wakefulness,  and  sallied  out 


POEMS.  57 

To  lift  with  daring  finger  the  dark  hair 

That  lay  on  Adam's  brow.     Yet  he  stirred  not. 

The  slowly  moving  foot  and  heavy  tread 

Of  giant  animals  that  came  to  drink 

From  Eden's  mimic  lakes,  jarring  the  ground 

At  every  motion  of  their  mammoth  limbs, 

Failed  to  arouse  him  from  his  long,  deep  trance. 

Lithe  tiny  reptiles,  of  a  glittering  green 

Freckled  with  fiery  spots,  with  lightening  feet 

Darted  across  him  like  a  phosphor  flash, 

Or  like  a  gleaming  crowd  of  twinkling  fish, 

That  glancing,  slips  across  a  bar  of  sand. 

But  when  the  sun  one  third  his  journey  done, 
With  countless  golden  fingers  touched  the  crown 
Of  the  forbidden  tree  whose  glossy  fruit 
Rounded  in  shade  through  all  the  earlier  hours, 
The  eyes  of  Adam  opened,  and  he  rose, 
Wondering  to  find  no  dew-drops  in  the  grass, 
Nor  gemming  the  thick  cluster  of  his  hair, 
Nor  scarcely  moistening  the  blossom's  heart. 
But  soon  he  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  sun's 
Drinking  the  dew  away  ere  he  awoke, 
For  a  great  feeling  rose  within  his  soul, 
Of  mingled  presciency  and  reverence, 
Such  as  he  oft  had  felt  on  other  days,— 
Only  in  smaller  measure — just  before 
He  found  in  the  dear  haunts  of  Paradise, 
Some  new  work  of  Creation.     But  to-day, 
The  dim  uncertain  feeling  swelled  and  grew 
To  something  far  more  sure  than  wavering  hope, 
More  positive  than  mere  expectancy. 


58  POEMS. 

So  with  a  careful  step  and  searching  glance, 

He  passed  through  dell  and  over  sloping  lawn, 

Peered  into  shady  covert  and  dim  glade, 

And  parted  with  a  cautious  hand  the  vines 

Of  the  cool  bowers.     Bat  suddenly  he  paused, 

And  drew  his  breath  back  with  a  stifled  cry 

Of  joy  and  wonder,  and  with  strong  hands  clasped 

Stood  gazing,  till  his  loudly  beating  heart 

Shook  the  stout  building  of  his  naked  chest, 

And  sent  an  agitated  current  up, 

Flushing  o'er  cheek  and  bro\v.     Then  he  drew  back 

Into  a  leafy  covert,  and  between 

The  verdant  boughs  and  lightly  stirring  leaves, 

Watched  breathlessly  ;  for  just  before  him  there, 

Upon  a  couch  of  softest  emerald  moss, 

O'cr-shadowed  by  the  swaying  foliage, 

Lay  Eve,  the  late  perfected  work  of  God. 

How  white  and  still !  —  a  marble  work  embossed 
Upon  a  ground  of  green.     Sweet  vermeil  flowers 
Were  nestled  all  about  her,  and  the  birds, 
Their  iris  colors  glancing  in  and  out 
From  sun  to  shade,  would  poise  or  flutter  down 
So  near  they  fanned  her  with  uneasy  wing. 
And  one  strange  creature  from  the  forest  came, 
With  meekest  face  and  solemn  looking  eyes, 
And  gently  stooping,  licked  the  little  feet 
So  gleaming  white,  and  bedded  in  the  moss. 
While  ever  round  her,  with  impatient  air 
The  lordly  serpent  moved,  his  glistening  head 
High  lifted  as  if  crowned  with  kingly  power, 
And  fiery  sparkles  flashing  from  his  eye. 


POEMS.  59 

Then  Adam  noted  that  a  warmer  tint 
Was  softening  all  her  whiteness,  like  the  first 
Faint  shade  of  color  on  an  ocean  shell, 
Deapening  to  pink  at  each  pearl  finger-tip, 
And  at  the  centre  of  each  snowy  breast ; 
Leaving  a  full  carnation  on  the  cheek, 
And  richer  carmine  on  the  ripened  lip. 

Slowly  her  eyelids  opened  •  narrowly 

At  first,  as  half  asleep  ;  but  wide  at  last, 

Until  the  long  brown  curling  lashes  touched 

Her  wonder  lifted  eye-brow.     What  a  world 

Of  mystery,  and  innocence,  and  love, 

Lived  in  the  depths  of  her  heaven-colored  eyes! 

What  gleams  of  purity  !    What  lights  of  stars  ! 

Then  Eve  arose,  and  all  her  clustered  hair 

Of  golden  brown,  fell  rolling  wave-like  down 

Over  her  shining  bosom,  turning  out 

On  either  side  their  burnished  rippling  streams, 

And    left    her   smooth    white    shoulders   glancing 

through. 

And  while  her  eye  grew  moistened,  drinking  in 
The  beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  place, 
She  stood  in  silent  self-forgetfulness, 
Nor  dreamed  that  she  herself  was  Beauty's  queen. 
But  soon  her  active  fingers  'gan  to  pull 
The  little  starry  flowers,  and  smiling  at 
Their  sweetened  breath,  in  fancy  strange  she  tried 
To  stick  them  in  the  dark  and  shaggy  brow 
Of  a  great  animal,  whose  crimson  tongue 
Reached  for  her  hand,  when  now  and  then  she  turned 


60  POEMS. 

To  gently  touch,  and  smooth  with  tender  palms, 
The  crested  serpent's  arched  and  glittering  neck. 

And  Adam  noted  the  light  graceful  play 

And  easy  movement  of  her  lithsome  limbs, 

The  dimpled  elbow  and  the  rounded  form, 

Nor  lost  one  charm  from  golden  threaded  curl 

To  tiny  feet  that  wavered  in  the  green. 

And  while  he  watched  her,  moving  here  and  there, 

Her  beauty  wrought  upon  him,  —  made  him  bold  : 

And  parting  from  the  thicket  Adam  stood 

In  manhood  glorious,  confronting  Eve. 

How  strong  and  grand  he  seemed  !     All  motionless 

She  gazed  upon  that  other  master-piece 

Of  God  ;  observed  the  stout  limb  sinew-strung, 

The  heaped-up  muscle,  and  the  shoulder  broad : 

But  when  her  eye  met  his,  a  rosy  cloud 

Moved  glowing  in  her  cheek,  taking  its  fire 

From  the  new  sun  of  love  just  dawning  in 

Her  guileless  soul.    The  vein-traced  eyelids  drooped 

Lower  and  lower  still,  until  they  cast 

Their  fringy  shade  on  burning  cheek  below. 

Then  Adam  reached  his  hand,  at  which  she  sprang, 

And  with  a  cry  of  gladness  faltered  down, 

Pressing  his  instep  with  her  flushing  brow, 

In  an  excess  of  reverence  and  love. 

But  Adam  lifted  her,  and  held  her  out 

To  let  his  eyes  shine  on  her,  and  then  drew 

Her  closer,  closer  still,  until  her  head 

His  shoulder  touched,  and  under  her  white  breast, 

He  felt  the  hurried  beating  of  her  heart. 


POEMS.  61 

That  moment,  through  the  walks  of  Paradise, 
There  came  a  still  small  voice.    Came  with  command, 
And  blessing,  and  with  words  that  made  them  one. 

O  Love,  thou  child  of  Eden  !     Whosoe'er 
Has  ever  once  received  thee  for  a  guest, 
Has  walked  in  Paradise.     And  evermore 
When  thou  dost  come  with  angel  Innocence, 
We  hear  the  sanction  of  the  still  small  voice, 
And  feel  the  primal  blessing  is  our  own. 


JjpHE  poet's  spirit  pours  no   more  the  olden  time 
Jj  libation ; 

j     The  ancient  wine  no  longer  fires  the  sweetness 

of  his  strain  ; 

The  perfume  cup  and  censer,  with  the  mystical  obla 
tion, 
Were  shivered  by  the  agony  that  rent  the  veil  in  twain. 

Last  night,  at  sunset  hour  I  stood,  and  smiled  upon 

the  daring 
Of  a  bird  that  sprinkled  music  into  golden  silences  : 


62  POEMS. 

And  through  the  royal  splendor  that  the  universe  was 

wearing, 
My  spirit-vision  caught  a  glimpse  of  sacred  entities. 

There    was   no   flaming  chariot  for   laurel-crowned 

Apollo, 
Where  amber  plumes  of  sunset  spread  serenely  in  the 

West; 
But  cherub  wings  were  floating  over  cloud-ravine  and 

hollow, 
Beyond  the  purple  fringes  upon  Nature's  glory-vest. 

And  in  the  eastern  sky,  no  gods  upon  their  ether  pil 
lows, 

Received  the  fragrant  nectar  from  the  Hebe  of  their 
court  j 

But  earthward  bound,  and  undulating  over  cloudy 
billows, 

The  angels  in  their  pearly  boats  came  rocking  into 
port. 

I  turned   toward   the  forest  where   the  glossy  oak 

leaves  shimmered, 
And  regal  tops  were  glowing  in  the  farewell  of  the 

sun  ; 
Yet   down  the  woodland  path  no  foot  of  gleaming 

Dryad  glimmered, 
With  white  embossed  upon  the  gloom  where  early 

shadows  run. 


POEMS.  63 

brooding  in  the  presence  of  an  all-surpassing 
Beauty, 

The  infant  boughs  were  whispering  a  sacred  epi 
logue  ; 

And  sweet  and  holy  subtilties  of  love,  and  faith,  and 
duty, 

Thrilled  into  gurgling  silver  through  a  blue-bird  mys- 
tagogue. 

I  sought  the  ocean  cliff,  and  heard  the  little  tide- 
waves  kissing 

The  rough  and  rocky  shoulder  Earth  had  leaned 
against  the  Sea ; 

But  Neptune,  and  the  coursers  with  the  golden 
manes  were  missing, 

And  the  triple  pointed  sceptre  of  the  water  deity. 


No   nereids   were   grouping  in  the  soft  rose-tinted 

water, 
In    silent   wonder  smiling  o'er  the  secrets  of  their 

home  ; 
No  breathing  zephyr  wafted  the  old  Sea's  divinest 

daughter, 
For  Aphrodite  rose  not  in  her  drapery  of  foam. 

But    suddenly  the  wide  expanse   seemed  gloriously 

clearer  ; 
A  gleam  of  light  celestial  with  the  crimson  shadows 

played ; 


64  POEMS. 

And  precious  feet  upon  the  deep  came  nearer  and 

yet  nearer, 
And  soft  the  caverns  echoed,  "  It  is  I,  be  not  afraid." 

O  purple  drops  of  Calvary,  that  cleansed  the  spirit 

vision ! 

O  love-revealing  link  between  the  human  and  divine  1 
Through  thee  the  poet  evermore  walks  in  a  world 

elysian, 
And   life  becomes   a  sanctity,  and  earth  a  sacred 

shrine. 


ur 


INSCRIBED  TO  MR.  AND  MRS.  L.  W.  BARTON. 

§0  little  feet  to  meet  us  at  the  door; 
No  greeting  shout,  no  eager  welcome  word ; 
Where  prattling  ones  our  music  made  before, 
No  sound  is  heard. 

No  little  chair  beside  the  table  stands ; 
We  see  no  curl-encircled  head  and  brow ; 
There  are  three  pairs  of  precious  dimpled  hands  - 
We  clasp  not  now. 


POEMS.  65 

No  voice  to  lisp  the  simple  prayer  at  night ; 
No  childish  fears  to  soothe  from  false  alarms ; 
We  only  find,  when  comes  the  morning  light, 
Our  empty  arms. 

No  little  perfect  forms  on  which  to  dote ; 
No  use  for  pretty  caps  and  neat  array  ; 
The  fine  embroidered  clothes  and  graceful  coat 
Are  put  away. 

Our  one  boy  moves  alone,  with  serious  light 
In  his  blue  eye.     How  strange  the  lessened  noise  I 
Had  they  staid  here,  't  would  been  a  glorious  sight,  — 
Our  row  of  boys. 

Sometimes  we  half  forget,  and  in  our  walk, 
Upon  the  gravel  hear  their  tripping  feet, 
And  gather  up  sweet  fragments  of  their  talk, 
Along  the  street. 

It  is  too  sacred,  —  our  deep  tender  grief— 
To  form  a  daily  theme  for  common  ears : 
'T  is  solitude  that  yields  us  the  relief 
Of  unchecked  tears. 

We  have  no  music  now.     The  silent  room, 
No  longer  with  the  sweet  recital  rings  ; 
But  yet  we  love  to  think,  that  through  the  gloom 
Stir  cherub  wings. 

This  thought,  sometimes,  half  makes  the  heart  re 
joice; 
They  're  safely  put  away  —  our  heaven-made  boys  I 


66  POEMS. 

Earth  would  have  soiled  them  so !     The  Lord  was 

choice 
Of  our  dear  boys» 

And  He  who  took  them,  some  day  will  restore 
The  precious  gifts,  unblemished  by  a  stain ; 
And  our  short  loss  be  changed  forevermore 
To  heavenly  gain. 

They  have  passed  on.     Our  stricken  spirits  yearn 
With  love  and  pain  ; —  so  humbling  is  the  thought, 
They  are  above,  beyond  us.    We  must  turn 
There,  and  be  taught. 

We  walk  our  earthly  ways.     Their  angel  feet 

Tread  paths  so  clean,  that  not  a  sin  alloys. 

Dear  Christ,  forgive  and  guide  !     Through  thee  we 

meet 
Our  cherub  boys. 


«jf 
ns&dmdtf  and  her  flonuici* 

if  SIT  in  the  lap  of  New  Hampshire, 
II    And  clasped  in  her  rugged  embrace, 
j     I  turn  to  a  State's  larger  glory, 
As  a  flower  to  the  Sun  turns  a  face  ; 


Edward  Green, 


POEMS.  67 

To  a  State  that  all  others  surpassing, 
Has  climbed  to  the  uppermost  place. 

Massachusetts  \     God  made  her  a  diamond, 

The  largest  in  Liberty's  crown  : 

And  her  beam  like  a  lance  of  the  lightning, 

Strikes  error  and  tyranny  down, 

And  stabs  at  the  life  of  Injustice, 

Though  folded  in  Royalty's  gown. 

Massachusetts,  —  the  farthest  in  working 
The  Heaven-given  problem  of  man  ! 
In  her  light,  how  the  nations  creep  after, 
And  follow  the  train  of  her  plan  ! 
All  the  peoples  to  God  pressing  slowly,—- 
Massachusetts  the  first  in  the  van. 

She  waves  in  the  world's  mighty  banner^ 
A  portion  of  Crystalline  white  : 
Her  garments,  blanched  out  to  the  lily, 
Are  bleached  on  a  glorious  height, 
And  poets  may  walk  out  to  meet  her, 
Nor  stoop  from  the  ether  and  light. 

She  stands  Heaven's  acolothist,  lighting 
Where  else  men  would  painfully  grope, 
And  urges  her  foet  in  the  pathway 
That  fails  not  of  Gocl  in  its  scope, 
And  we  call  her  Humanity's  promise, 
Its  guide  and  millennial  hope. 


62  POEMS. 

But  now  from  my  nest  in  the  granite, 
I  send  up  the  prayer  of  entreat 
To  Heaven,  for  our  grand  Massachusetts, 
And  the  convict  that's  down  at  her  feet; 
God  give  her  the  strength  and  the  spirit, 
Her  glory  and  grace  to  complete  I 

The  arm  that  in  duty  and  labor, 
Brings  nothing  to  tyrants  but  loss. 
That  dares  in  the  face  of  usurpers, 
Defiant  the  challenge  to  toss, 
God  nerve  it,  high  over  all  others, 
To  lift  up  the  sign  of  the  Cross  ! 

State  foremost  in  Justice  and  Progress  — 
Utopia  growing  in  bud  I 
O  feet  that  have  ever  pressed  forward, 
In  spite  of  the  mountain  and  flood, 
Shall  we  find  thee  still  worthy  of  worship, 
Slipped  back  in  a  criminal's  blood  I 

O  breast  of  the  Parian  whiteness,  — 
Where  all  things  heroic  and  free 
Nurse  and  cluster,  —  be  grand  in  thy  pity, 
As  the  heart  of  God's  chosen  should  be  ! 
Touch  Christ !    Grow  sublime  in  remission, 
To  him  who  now  waits  at  thy  knee  t 

O  State  that  is  strongest  in  grasping 
From  hands  of  Oppression  the  rod, 
Use  magic  in  this  as  in  fetters  ! 


POEMS.  69 

Sweep  scaffolds  away  from  the  sod  ! 

Time  the  heart  of  the  world  in  its  throbbing, 

To  the  merciful  pulses  of  God ! 


notJm 


I  am 

^f  N  love  with  Death.  Let  Life  with  bounding  pulse, 

||   And  cheek  all  glorious  with  Beauty's  tint, 

j     And  starry  eyes  with  Heaven's  own  shade  of  blue, 

And  lips  red-ripe  with  Passion's  ardent  kiss, 

Woo  me  no  longer.     Vain  are  all  these  charms  1 

Not  long  may  they  prevail  against  the  spell, 

That  draws  me  to  that  sober  rival,  —  Death. 

I  see  his  pale  hand  reaching  for  my  own, 

And  see  the  bridal  wreath  of  amaranth, 

Prepared  to  crown  me,  and  my  soul  inclines 

To  listen  to  the  mystery  of  his  words. 

Lo,  what  a  peaceful  music  in  his  voice ! 

The  one  sweet  note  of  silver  that  can  make, 

The  discord  of  existence  bearable. 

Not  long  ago,  I  pledged  myself  to  Life; 

Put  on  the  robes  of  gaiety  and  joy, 

Quaffed  the  rich  wine  of  Love,  aye,  to  the  dregs, 

And  learned  to  join  in  Pleasure's  witching  waltz. 


70  POEMS. 

A  change  came  ;  and  I  woke  from  foolish  dreams, 

To  find  my  robes  were  only  galling  chains  : 

The  ruby  wine  was  drugged  with  bitterness, 

And  I  was  sickened  with  the  giddy  waltz. 

God  !  how  my  soul  longed  for  one  cooling  draught, 

From  some  dear  spring,  where  eager  Selfishness 

Would  not  preside  as  ruler  at  the  fount  1 

How  earnestly  I  sought  with  blinding  tears, 

Through  every  green  place  in  Affection's  vale, 

To  find  that  sacred  spot.     And  once  I  thought, 

In  my  wild  wanderings  I  had  found  the  place, 

And  reckless  I  sprang  forward  ;  but  I  shrank 

To  see  the  fearful  gleaming  of  a  sword, 

That  turned  each  way  to  ward  me  from  the  spot, 

While  stubborn  Fate  in  icy  whispers  said, 

Close  in  my  ear,  "  'T  will  never  be  for  thee" 

I  searched  no  more.     Dissimulation  came, 

And  clothed  my  lip  with  happy  smile  and  song, 

And  schooled  my  tongue  to  utter  merry  words, 

And  taught  my  eyes  to  sparkle  quick  with  joy  ; 

While  some  lips  whispered  carelessly  around, 

S-uch  gaiety  was  born  of  heartlessness. 

Christ  cure  the  blind  !     The  riddle  of  my  life, 

Is  folded  up,  and  fastened  with  a  seal, 

The  world  can  never  break.     The  curious 

Will  peck  with  sharpened  guessings,  but  will  tire, 

And  leave  it  as  I  left  it,  —  unrevealed. 

But  who  will  chide  me  for  my  lover,  —  Death  ? 
Why,  he  will  give  me  all  I  long  for  most !  — 
To  this  frail  piece  of  clay,  a  lasting  home, 


POEMS.  71 

In  the  still  city,  with. its  marble  towers^      .    -......- 

And  for  my  fettered  soul,  the  boundless  range 
Of  freedom.     Freedom  mysteries  to  solve  ; 
To  drink  the  choice  elixir  Wisdom  gives 
To  Knowledge  thirsting  souls  ;  to  seek  again 
The  spirits  we  have  loved  the  best  on  earth, 
And  hover  near  to  brighten  every  cloud, 
And  soften  every  pang.     Oh,  this  alone, 
Were  heaven  to  me !     An  angel's  love  is  pure, 
I  should  not  need  to  stop  and  analyze 
My  motives  then  for  impulse,  but  could  lay 
My  spirit-hand  upon  the  dear  one's  cheek, 
And  thread  his  dreams  with  tracings  of  delight, 
And  calm  his  soul  to  prayer,  and  catch  the  words 
That  dropt  pearl-perfect  from  his  grateful  lip. 
And  should  the  precious  tear  of  penitence 
Fall  meekly,  I  would  bear  the  diamond  up, 
The  choicest  offering  to  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

I  am  ambitious  to  be  wed  to  Death ; 

To  be  presented  to  that  higher  court, 

And  witness  all  the  crownings.     What  a  host 

Of  princes  running  down  the  Christian  line! 

Those  numbers  that  we  designate  "  the  Poor," 

Will  there,  grown  sudden  rich,  appear  in  robes 

Encrusted  with  the  diamonds  of  Truth, 

And  fastened  with  the  brooch  of  Purity  ; 

And  round  their  gentle  brows  Humility 

Will  weave  her  mild  aureola,  while  gems 

Of  purest  water  that  the  Christ-crowned  wear, 

Shall  ]be  tfye  worlj:  of  Love.     Death  whispered  this? 


72  POEMS. 

Or  sent  his  spirit  agents  out  one  night, 
To  tell  me  so.     They  found  me  faint  and  weak, 
Upon  a  restless  pillow  ;  but  they  laid 
A  soothing  calm  upon  me,  and  I  felt 
The  electric  nature  of  the  spirit's  touch, 
Thrill  all  my  being  through.     I  knew  they  bent 
To  kiss  my  wasting  cheek,  and  whispered  words 
Of  condolence,  because  Life's  harvest  field, 
Which  I  had  watched  and  fondly  doted  on, 
Was  proving  such  a  failure.     "  Thou  shalt  reap, 
When  Death  has  claimed  thee,  harvests  rich  in  Truth, 
And  drink  the  waters  of  a  generous  Love." 

That  promise  won  me  over.     Day  by  day 
I  watch  the  gathering  light  within  my  eye, 
And  note  the  hectic  flicker  on  the  cheek, 
That  seems  the  bridegroom's  herald.     But  I  fear 
How  it  will  be.     For  roguish,  wanton  Life, 
Will  slyly  come  and  peep  me  in  the  face, 
And  fan  me  with  invigorating  breath, 
And  spite  of  all  my  wishes,  hold  me  fast 
Within  those  health-restoring  arms.     But  Death 
Will  some  day  satisfy  my  spirit  needs, 
And  resting  in  that  thought,  I  patient  wait 


POEMS.  73 


|b  |ird  long, 


fPON  the  Southern  porch  I  sit, 
And  smile  to  see  the  Summer  come 
I  cannot  count  the  wings  that  flit, 
Or  bees  that  hum. 

I  watch  the  July  blossom  turn 
Its  sweet  heart-centre  to  the  light, 
The  sun-wrought  secret  in  its  urn 
Revealed  to  sight. 

I  hear  the  drip  of  woodland  springs, 
Where  the  wild  roses  lean  across, 
To  mingle  fragrant  whisperings 
Above  the  moss. 

I  feel  the  fingers  of  the  breeze, 
Caressingly  my  hair  entwine, 
And  think  that  touches  such  as  these 
Are  half  divine. 

But  most  I  marvel  at  a  bird, 
That  trills  a  wild  and  wondrous  note  ; — 
The  sweetest  sound  that  ever  stirred 
A  warbler's  throat. 


74  POEMS. 

He  perches  not  in  leafy  nooks, 
But  seeks  a  tree-top,  gaunt  and  bare, 
That  all  the  woodland  overlooks, 
And  warbles  there. 

Incarnate  melody !     Serene 
He  'bides  upon  the  summit  high, 
Where  not  a  leaf  can  intervene 
'Twixt  song  and  sky. 

j  Perchance  some  angel,  loving  me, 

Hides  in  the  plumage  of  the  bird, 
And  wins  me  with  the  sweetest  plea 
That  e'er  was  heard. 

And  bids  my  human  heart  forego 
Earth's  easy  coverts,  cool  and  green, 
The  long  drawn  aisles  of  pomp  and  show, 
Wealth's  flower  screen, 

And  the  poor  words  of  worldly  praise, 
So  cheaply  bought,  yet  held  so  dear, 
That  I  one  song  for  Truth  may  raise, 
Divinely  clear. 

With  not  a  laurel  leaf  between 
The  sunlight  and  my  liited  eye, 
Or  earthly  shade  to  intervene 
'Twixt  soul  and  sky. 


POEMS.  75 


fOME  one  has  said,  a  ruined  character 
Is  picturesque,  as  castle  ruins  are. 
I  have  known  such,  and  wondered  oft  to  find 
The  ivy  vine  of  love  had  fastened  on 
So  vile  a  trellis,  clinging  tenderly, 
And  hiding  with  its  beauty,  fresh  and  sweet, 
Half  the  infected  walls.     I  Ve  searched  beneath 
That  outward  blossoming,  and  shook  to  see 
Sin's  gangrene  there,  with  weeds  of  wickedness 
Grown  rankly  thick  in  pestilential  air. 
And  evil  thoughts  went  flitting  through  that  dome 
Of  darkness,  like  ill-omened  birds,  that  beat 
Their  ebon  wings  in  dim  and  dusty  haunts  : 
While  low  Deceit  and  Falsehood  lurked  about 
The  cankered  walls,  and  crept  like  slimy  things, 

It  human  love  can  wreathe  a  sin-sick  soul, 
And  hide  its  hicleousness,  cannot  a  love 
Divine,  repair,  redeem  it,  and  restore  ? 

I  Ve  seen  a  wreck  of  ruined  hopes.     No  vine 
Of  cooling  shade  clothed  o'er  the  sombre  walls. 
Gaunt,  dreary,  desolate,  it  stood  alone, 


76  POEMS. 

An  unattractive  ruin.     Yet  within, 

I  found  an  atmosphere  of  purity, 

Where  some  meek  flowers  were  blooming,  —  modest 

bells 
That  rang  with  plaintive  chimes,  and  charmed  the 

place 

With  sweetness.     Memories  old  and  strangely  dear 
Glanced  in  and  out  the  sombre  vestibule, 
Like  snowy  doves,  with  voice  of  tender  moan, 
And  pitying  eyes.     Yet  in  the  holiest  place 
Of  all  that  shattered  temple,  Faith  still  stood 
With  lifted  finger,  changing  all  the  gloom 
To  a  mysterious  brightness,  while  her  voice 
Broke  up  the  silver  silence,  till  the  air, 
Stirred  with  one  song  of  rest,  and  peace,  and  Heaven. 


|f  HAVE  seen  a  brow,  as  purely  bright, 
31  As  the  snow  just  tinted  with  rosy  light ; 
J    Set  round  with  locks  of  the  softest  brown, 
And  gay  with  the  splendor  of  Beauty's  crown. 
But  more  than  this,  I  discovered  there, 
Close  in  the  shade  of  that  beautiful  hair, 
That  Genius,  with  touch  unseen  and  light, 


POEMS.  77 

Had  shaped  and  modelled  the  forehead  white  ; 

And  my  soul  knelt  down,  when  that  brow  passed  by, 

In  a  service  of  love,  I  knew  not  why. 

Who  '11  dare  to  blame  me  for  worshipping  so, 

Or  chide  my  spirit  ?     Not  God,  I  know. 

I  have  seen  a  pair  of  beautiful  'eyes, 
With  a  tender  change  like  April  skies  ; 
Mildly  radiant,  deeply  blue, 
With  the  star  of  Love,  just  shining  through  : 
And  I  saw  a  glimpse  of  the  soul  divine 
Start  out  of  those  depths  of  shade  and  shine, 
And  my  unchecked  spirit  reached  to  grasp 
That  new  found  soul,  with  confiding  clasp. 
Oh,  in  all  the  world  there  were  no  such  eyes, 
To  reveal  the  heaven  where  purity  lies  ! 
Who'll  dare  to  blame  me  for  thinking  so, 
Or  chide  my  spirit !     Not  God,  I  know, 

I  have  seen  a  strangely  bewitching  mouth, 

With  the  glowing  warmth  of  the  tro;>ic  South  :  — 

A  gleam  of  pearl  in  a  fold  of  rose, 

Where  the  breath  in  balmy  fragrance  flows  ; 

Where  dimples  hurry  from  lip  to  cheek, 

In  a  roguish  game  of  hide  and  seek. 

Sometimes,  I  have  almost  dared  to  think, 

S.veet  thoughts  would  thicken  about  Love's  brink 

And  slip  those  lips,  in  the  clearest  word 

That  my  waiting  soul  has  ever  heard. 

Who'll  dare  to  bl.une  me  for  hoping  so, 

Or  chide  my  spirit  ?     Not  God,  I  know. 


;S  POEMS. 


jjrMMORTAL  Force,  —  servant  of  Deity  — 

II   Works  onward,  never  backward.    From  the  plane 

j     Of  Nature's  pyramidal  base  it  moves 

Upward  in  transmutations  glorious, 

Tracing  the  thought  of  God.     No  turning  back, 

No  loss  upon  the  march.     The  final  links 

In  past  completions,  are  its  primal  points 

For  loftier  beginnings.     Inward  fires 

That  flame  at  Nature's  heart,  the  strength  and  power 

Of  all  material  method,  the  ascent, 

The  terrible  abyss,  the  tempest  wrath, 

The  beauty  of  the  blossom  and  the  leaf, 

The  glory  of  the  rainbow  and  the  cloud, 

The  Music  of  the  bird,  and  bee,  and  stream, 

The  harmony  of  things,  the  restless  toss 

And  mystery  of  the  changing  opal  sea, 

All  are  refined,  transmuted,  and  conserved, 

And  wrought  into  the  foetal  angel,  —  Man. 

The  human  organism  perishes, 

To  aid  the  wondrous  alchemy  of  Life  ; 

And  Force,  sublimed  to  phosphorescent  mind, 

Mounts  upon  pinions  of  celestial  flame, 

Sphering  the  germ  spark  of  a  seraph's  fire, 

And  burning  onward  to  the  INFINITE* 


POEMS. 


\ 


BEAUTIFUL  eyes  !     Their  living  depths 
JH  Held  stars,  and  around  their  centres  of  night, 
*$*  Were  circles  so  clear  you  thought  of  dawn, 
As  they  drew  you  into  their  pure  gray  light. 
Some  one  said  that  their  light  went  out 
One  summer  morning,  as  all  stars  must : 
And  only  the  thread-like  roots  can  press, 
Where  the  faded  orbs  are  covered  with  dust 
So  much  brightness  gone  to  the  ground  ! 

Look  for  blossoms  with  fairer  hues, 

When  Earth  shall  smile  into  bloom  once  more  ; 

Search  in  the  bright-eyed  pansy's  face, 

For  a  richer  tint  than  ever  before. 

Stars  shall  bud  in  the  sober  moss  : 

For  Nature  will  stretch  her  floral  laws, 

And  add  new  links  to  the  primitive  chain 

Of  producing  forces,  only  because 

Of  all  this  brightness  gone  to  the  ground. 

Beautiful  lips  !     Their  crimson  curves 
Were  blown  apart  by  a  breath  of  balm, 
And  the  changing  lines  into  dimples  ran, 


8o  POEMS. 

When  a  shower  of  smiles  broke  up  their  calm. 

Richly  laden  with  Love's  own  sweet, 

Full  to  wasting  with  honied  bliss ; 

Such  a  mouth,  it  never  was  sin 

For  any  body  to  wish  to  kiss  ! 

So  much  sweetness  gone  to  the  ground  ! 

Look,  when  the  blood  of  the  June  rose  starts, 
For  a  deeper  hue  in  the  crimson  tide 
Dripping  into  its  leaves  !     In  the  purple  tube 
Of  the  garden  bell,  new  drops  will  hide ! 
Rarer  odors  will  float  from  urns 
Of  censers,  swung  on  a  leafy  stem  ; 
There  's  a  richer  pulse  in  the  maple  bole, 
And  the  daisy  will  hug  a  honey  gem, 
For  all  this  sweetness  gone  to  the  ground. 

Beautiful  hair!     Its  silken  wealth, 

From  a  brow  too  smooth  was  backward  drawn, 

And  the  face  shone  out ;  —  as  the  brightning  mist 

Is  parted  away  from  the  forehead  of  Dawn. 

Or,  just  to  humor  a  lock  sometimes 

It  fell  to  the  cheek  of  opal  'glow, 

As  a  little  bronze  leaf  drops  to  rest, 

On  a  spot  of  rose-leaves  heaped  below. 

So  much  beauty  gone  to  tha  ground  ! 

Look  for  a  charm  in  the  face  of  the  sky, 
And  airy  splendors,  never  before, 
To  crown  the  heads  of  the  sentinel  hills, 
With  glory,  such  as  they  never  wore  I 


POEMS.  81 

V/ise  ones  say,  that  nothing  is  lost; 

Can  the  Universe  cheapen  in  God's  care  ? 

The  beauty  that  faded  into  a  blank, 

Must  burst  into  Nature  again  somewhere,  — 

All  this  beauty  gone  to  the  ground. 

Beautiful  soul !     Its  measure  of  love, 
For  all  Earth's  children  was  running  o'er, 
And  brimming  up  with  its  generous  deeds, 
When  the  cry  of  Want  was  at  the  door. 
Never  mistrusting  its  spirit  depths 
Held  treasures,  such  as  the  chosen  wear ;  — 
That  clear  in  the  calm  of  its  inward  sea, 
The  image  of  Jesus  was  shining  there ! 
So  much  goodness  added  to  Heaven  ! 

Beautiful  soul,  whose  natural  thought 

Could  n't  sadden  an  angel !     Forgiving  the  wrong, 

Though  resented  a  moment !     Childlike  traits  1 

Such  to  the  large  in  Christ  belong. 

If  it  tript  an  instant,  what  efforts  pure, 

That  soul  made  over  the  little  sin  ; 

So  near  the  kingdom,  we  might  have  known 

The  gates  would  open  to  let  it  in  ! 

All  this  goodness  added  to  Heaven  ! 

Beautiful  soul,  that  is  not  lost 
To  its  old  place  here !  —  as  we  always  find 
Where  the  flower  of  the  heliotrope  has  been, 
By  the  sweet  perfume  that  is  left  behind. 
Nothing  is  lost !     Our  days  glide  on, 


82  POEMS. 

Calm  and  quiet  as  never  before  ; 
For  an  angel  helper  is  clearing  the  way, 
And  our  hearts  but  yearn  to  God  the  more, 
For  the  goodness  and  glory  added  to  Heaven. 


fc 


<jjf  STOOD  and  watched  the  still,  mysterious  Night, 
/jjl    Steal  from  her  shadowy  caverns  in  the  East, 
j     To  work  her  deep  enchantments  on  the  world. 
Her  black  veil  floated  clown  the  silent  glens, 
While  her  dark  sandalled  feet,  with  noiseless  tread, 
Moved  to  a  secret  harmony.     Along 
The  brows  of  the  majestic  hills,  she  strung 
Her  glorious  diamonds  so  stealthily, 
It  never  marred  their  dreams;  and  in  the  deep, 
Cool  thickets  of  the  wood,  where  scarce  the  Day 
Could  reach  the  dim  retreat,  her  dusky  hand 
Pinned  on  tlu  breast  of  tlu  exhiiinj  (lover, 
A  glittering  gjm  ;  while  all  the  tanjleJ  fcrns 
And  forest  lacj-work,  as  she  moved  along, 
Grew  moist  and  shining. 

Who  would  e'er  have  guessed, 
The  queenly  Night  would  deign  to  stoop  and  love 
A  little  flower !     And  yet,  with  all  her  stealth, 


POEMS.  83 

I  saw  her  press  her  damp  and  cooling  lip 
Upon  the  feverish  bosom  of  a  Rose  ; 
At  which  a  watchful  bird  poured  sudden  forth 
A  love-sick  song,  of  sweet  and  saddest  strain. 

Upon  the  ivied  rocks,  and  rugged  crags 
On  which  the  ocean  billows  break,  she  hung 
Her  sombre  mantle  ;  and  the  gray  old  sea 
That  had  been  high  in  tumult  all  the  day, 
Became  so  mesmerized  beneath  her  wiles, 
He  seemed  a  mere  reflection  of  herself. 
The  billows  sank  into  a  dimpled  sleep  ; 
Only  the  little  tide-waves  glided  up 
To  kiss  the  blackness  of  the  airy  robe 
That  floated  o'er  them. 

Long  I  stood  and  watche'd 
The  mystic,  spell-like  influence  of  Night ; 
Till  o'er  the  eastern  hills,  came  up  the  first 
Faint  glories  of  the  crown  that  Phoebus  wears. 
And  soon,  the  Earth,  surprised  to  see  the  work 
That  Night  had  wrought,  began  to  glow  and  blush, 
Like  maidens,  conscious  of  the  glance  of  Love. 
While  she,  —  the  dark  Enchantress,  —  like  to  one 
Who  decorates  her  bovver  with  all  things  fair, 
Wherewith  to  please  her  lover,  but  yet  flees 
At  his  approaching  step,  —  at  the  first  gleam 
That  lit  the  zenith  from  the  Day-god's  eye, 
Fled  timid  o'er  the  distant  western  hills. 


84  POEMS. 


fttmnur    $10  ruin  a. 
C?J*- 


CjpHE  sweet,  blushing  face  of  the  Morning, 
JP    Looks  over  Mount  Cardigan's  height, 
j    His  stern  granite  forehead  adorning, 

With  wreath  ings  of  roseate  light ; 
She  covers,  with  fleecy-like  curling, 

His  bald  and  majestic  old  head, 
The  folds  of  her  mantle  unfurling, 

She  throws  'round  the  stout  monarch's  bed. 

She  sails  through  an  ocean  of  amber, 

Down  into  the  village  below, 
And  urges  the  woodbine  to  clamber, 

Or  teases  the  roses  to  blow ; 
She  softly  creeps  up  from  the  basement, 

And  gazes,  with  impudent  peep, 
Through  the  chinks  of  the  blind  at  the  casement, 

Where  beauty  half  smiles  in  her  sleep, 

She  steals  through  the  partly  closed  shutter, 
And  breathes  a  mild  fragrance  around, 

While  her  wings,  in  the  hurry  and  flutter, 
Give  out  a  soft  echo  of  sound  ; 


POEMS.  85 

She  smooths  the  brown  hair  of  the  maiden, 
And  kisses,  to  rouse  her  from  sleep, 

While  her  lip,  with  a  crimson  paint  laden, 

Has  streaked  the  young  dreamer's  round  cheek. 

But  away  !  for  there  's  tinting  and  tracing, 

To  fill  up  with  labor  the  hour, 
And  her  brush,  in  the  flying  and  chasing, 

Has  colored  each  leaflet  and  flower  ; 
The  Night  had  thrown  down  a  black  shading, 

That  chilled  every  vessel  and  vein, 
And  Morning,  who  finds  the  leaves  fading, 

Must  paint  them  all  over  again. 

And  always,  while  sailing  and  turning, 

In  rivers  of  light  round  the  globe, 
Her  blue  eye  is  faintly  discerning 

The  trail  of  Night's  dark,  distant  robe  ; 
So  a  kind  invitation  repeating, 

She  asks  her  a  moment  to  stay ; 
But  the  Ethiop  mother,  retreating, 

Still  sulkily  holds  on  her  way. 

Tears  float  in  the  eye  of  the  Morning, 

Her  heart  is  so  tender  and  true, 
And  they  drop  as  a  paint,  in  adorning 

The  meek  little  blossoms  of  blue  ; 
Then  lightly  her  yellow  locks  shaking, 

Her  purple  wings  quickly  unfold, 
And  the  field  lilies,  sudden  awaking, 

Catch  hues  from  her  tresses  of  gold. 


86  POEMS. 

At  the  thicket  of  willows  she  lingers, 

Close  down  by  the  cool  river's  side, 
To  bathe  the  pink  tips  of  her  fingers. 

And  lave  her  red  lip  in  the  tide  ; 
I  know  every  shrub  she  caresses, 

For  fragrance  drips  out  of  her  hand  ; 
I  know  where  her  dainty  foot  presses, 

By  silver  and  gold  in  the  sand. 

I  used  to  bound  forward  to  greet  her, 

With  childhood's  swift  step,  and  a  song ; 
I  skipped  to  the  hill  top,  to  meet  her, 

And  poured  out  a  melody  long  ; 
But  often  I  thought  she  was  treading 

A  path,  through  the  newly- mown  hay, 
For  I  breathed  a  fresh  air,  that  was  spreading 

An  odor,  around  the  green  way. 

So  I  knew  't  was  a  pure  distillation, 

That  fell  from  her  robe  as  she  passed, 
Or  the  scent  of  a  mild  respiration, 

She  breathed  through  the  ripe,  seedy  grass  ; 
The  husbandman  whistled  his  gladness, 

Or  sang  with  a  stout,  hearty  cheer  ; 
No  bosom  could  find  room  for  sadness, 

When  bright  Summer  Morning  was  here. 

And  now,  though  my  heart  has  grown  older, 
And  care  has  found  place  in  my  breast, 

Though  childhood's  fresh  warmth  is  now  colder, 
And  life  often  seems  like  a  jest, 


POEMS.  87 

Yet,  when  a  blush  falls  on  the  wildwood, 

And  hues  all  the  landscape  adorn, 
I  feel  the  glad  trust  of  my  childhood, 

And  sing  to  the  glorious  Morn. 


|rath'$  Jostle. 


I  met 

fITH  such  an  one,  —  God's  angel.     In  his  heart 
I  found  the  tomb  of  buried  passions,  and 
My  soul  stepped  lightly  upon  Error's  grave. 
Pride,  Lust,  and  selfish  Love  was  buried  there, 
And  spirits  pure  sat  by  Sin's  sepulchre, 
From  which  his  resurrected  soul  rose  up, 
Crowned  with  the  glory  of  immortal  life. 
He  walked  the  earth.     He  was  a  mortal  man. 
He  had  no  angel  pinions,  yet  I  knew 
On  Aspiration's  strong  and  restless  wing, 
His  spirit  rose  to  bathe  in  Heaven's  own  light. 
He  lived  and  labored,  not  like  other  men, 
For  gain,  and  power,  and  popularity. 
The  wealthy  worldling  would  have  marked  with  scorn 
His  humble  dress,  his  cheap  and  simple  food. 
And  yet  he  had  such  diamonds  hid  within  ! 
Close  by  the  Master's  feet  he  gathered  them : 
Could  the  blind  world  have  seen  them,  all  the  kings 
Would  called  their  wealth  and  treasure,  poverty. 


88  POEMS. 

He  sought  forever  for  the  seed  of  Truth. 
And  fast  as  gathered,  patient  in  his  work, 
He  scattered  it  among  the  souls  of  men. 
And  some  received  it ;  others  shook  it  off, 
And  gave  him  back  Derision's  scornful  laugh. 
No  tie  withheld  him  from  the  chosen  work 
To  which  all  self  was  sacrificed.     The  bond 
That  bound  him  to  the  sacred  cause  of  Truth, 
Was  stronger  than  the  triple  braided  chord,  — 
Position,  Fame,  Society's  applause. 

Think  you  he  loved  not  ?     Aye,  his  soul  was  lit, 
A  heaven  all  cloudless  with  Affection's  sun. 
On  its  broad  radiant  disc  no  darkening  spots 
Of  lustful  passion  were,  but  love  was  free, 
Nobly  unselfish,  as  an  angel's,  pure. 
Yet  in  his  wanderings,  wheresoe'er  he  met 
The  soul  of  a  true  woman,  beautiful 
In  innocence,  and  heart  devoted  to 
Humanity's  high  interests,  and  withal, 
Upon  her  breast  Humility's  pure  pearl, 
He  worshipped  at  that  shrine,  as  true  men  must 
Who  meet  with  such  a  spirit.     And  his  soul 
Joined  hands  with  hers,  and  both  were  wedded  in 
The  righteous  cause  of  Good.     The  love  of  God, 
In  him  was  the  unceasing  fountain  head, 
From  which  all  other  loves  rilled  out. 

His  road 

I  thought  seemed  perilous.     The  cruel  shafts 
Of  malice  and  suspicion  thickly  fell 


POEMS.  89 

About  his  lonely  path,  and  men  whose  hearts 
He  pricked  with  the  clean  sword  of  sacred  Right, 
Turned  out  their  hounds,  —  Envy  and  Jealousy,  — - 
To  fasten  fangs  upon  him,     But  his  feet 
Fled  not.     His  armor  was  impregnable. 
Men  saw  the  clouds  about  him,  but  his  eye, 
Clear  in  its  larger  light,  could  trace  the  hues 
Of  circling  rainbows  ;  and  his  path  that  seemed 
Companionless,  was  visited  by  bands 
Of  ministering  ones,  who  lend  their  strength 
And  peace  to  such  as  he,  who  dare  to  stand 
And  live  out  Heaven's  pure  law,  upon  the  verge 
Of  the  abyss  of  Scorn,  nor  fear  to  fall. 


f 
os£  and 


at  it. 


AH,  Nature  is  gracious  and  kind  to  me ! 
4JIJ   I  cannot  inhale  her  life  divine, 

j     Or  take  her  spirit  into  mine, 
Because  of  the  babe  upon  my  knee. 

I  cannot  behold  her  breast  a-flush 
And  gay  with  the  red  bud's  blossom  crown, 
The  while  she  donneth  her  April  gown, 
In  a  budding  silence,  —  blush  by  blush, 


9o  POEMS. 

And  later,  I  shall  not  stand  and  see 
Her  beauty  evolve  on  the  sunny  slope, 
Where  the  honied  mouths  of  the  roses  ope 
To  the  butterfly  and  humble-bee. 

And  when  the  Summer,  with  softest  air, 
Shall  woo  the  lilies  to  rock  and  ride 
In  the  arms  of  the  strong  and  wonderful  tide, 
And  wavelets  dance,  I  shall  not  be  there. 

Though  my  heart  for  the  balmy  woodland  yearns, 
I  cannot  list,  with  enchanted  ear, 
The  wild  dove's  moan,  or  smile  to  hear 
The  brooklet  talk  to  the  fairy  ferns. 

The  orange  waves  of  the  sunset  sea, 
And  morning  lifting  a  brow  of  gold 
From  airy  coverlets,  —  fold  on  fold 
Of  rose  and  silver,  —  are  lost  to  me. 

Yet  Nature  and  I  are  faithful  friends, 
Wedded  forever.     She  wreathes  my  cross 
With  leaf  and  bud,  and  for  all  my  loss 
And  hindrance,  she  maketh  full  amends. 

For  lo,  the  beauty  of  air  and  sea, 
The  music-gurgle  of  woodland  springs, 
The  grace  of  brilliant  and  airy  things, 
Wrought  into  the  babe  upon  my  knee  t 


POEMS.  91 

I  mark  the  light  of  the  lily's  snow, 
On  dimpled  shoulder  and  glossy  arm, 
And  on  his  cheek  the  varying  charm 
Of  flowery  tintings  come  and  go. 

And  sunset  bathes  with  palest  gold 
His  shining  hair,  and  the  solemn  skies, 
Have  wrought  in  his  violet-shaded  eyes, 
Their  starry  settings  manifold. 

The  delicate  hues  of  the  ocean  shell 
Flow  into  his  fairy  finger-tips, 
And  behind  the  fold  of  his  blossom  lips, 
The  pearls  are  coming,  I  know  full  well. 

And  in  his  cooings,  there  mingles  so 
The  music  of  bird  and  brook  refrain, 
All  fashioned  into  a  mystic  strain, 
And  words  which  only  the  angels  know. 

And  thus  I  have  not  been  dispossest 
By  Nature.     I  hold  in  a  better  way 
Her  rich  bequeathings  ;  for  night  and  day 
I  nurse  her  glory  upon  my  breast. 

But  this  my  wealth :  —  I  have  more  of  Thee, 
God  and  Father  !  for  half  divine 
Is  the  little  life  entwined  with  mine,  — 
The  baby  that  sits  upon  my  knee. 


92  POEMS. 


n. 


Lines  inscribed  to  HUNTINGTON  W.  FREEMAN,  Newark,  N.  J. 

more  than  love  she  brought  to  me! 
The  wealth  of  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea, 
Were  gathered  in  her  being  fair, 
For  she  was  Nature's  royal  heir  — 
My  Clara. 

I  touched  her  cheek  and  knew  the  rose : 
I  stirred  her  budded  lips'  repose, 
And  life  was  music  :  —  and  her  eyes 
Held  the  star-splendor  of  the  skies  — 
My  Clara. 

The  blossom's  birth,  and  sunlight's  flame, 
As  heralds  of  her  being  came ; 
The  harmony  of  Nature's  dress 
Transmuted  into  consciousness,  — 
My  Clara. 

But  life  with  law  moves  onward.     Naught 
Goes  backward  in  Deific  thought ; 
And  all  things  hasted  to  engage 
For  her,  celestial  heritage,  — 

My  Clara. 


POEMS. 

I  walk  alone  :  the  Earth  is  gay, 
With  glossy  leaf  and  blooming  spray  ; 
To  me  not  less,  but  more  is  given : 
She  holds  for  me  the  lease  of  Heaven  — 
My  Clara. 

God  mocks  us  not.     His  gifts  are  cheap, 
If  but  in  Time  we  hope  to  keep 
Their  preciousness.     Oh,  evermore 
My  love  shall  prove  eternal  store,  — 
My  Clara. 

Encircled  by  seraphic  wings, 
I  commerce  with  immortal  things : 
And  angel  guarded,  feel  my  soul 
Drawn  gently  to  its  light  and  goal,  — 
My  Clara. 

No  power  defrauds  us  of  our  own : 
And  while  I  seem  to  walk  alone, 
I  know  by  the  celestial  sea, 
A  raptured  spirit  waits  for  me,  — 
My  Clara. 


93 


94  POEMS. 


Jjf  HE  martyr  mountains,  faint  and  dim 
3|    Above  granitic  ridge  and  rim, 

J    With  bleaching  foreheads  bald  and  bare, 
Like  wearied  guards  appear  to  dream, 
Or  if  indeed  awake,  they  seem 
To  meditate  Elijah's  prayer. 

The  grass  is  swooning  in  the  mead, 

And  prematurely  sowing  seed, 

The  dandelions  totter  weak  : 

And  buttercups,  with  feeble  hold, 

Let  slip  their  wealth,  and  drop  their  gold 

Upon  the  clover's  heated  cheek. 

No  sound  of  water  down  the  rocks, 
No  noisy  glee  of  pasture  flocks  ; 
The  mint  sprouts  in  the  brooklet's  bed ; 
The  river  creeps  with  narrowed  bound, 
And  eager  for  the  vantage  ground, 
The  sweet-flag  and  the  rushes  spread. 

No  song  of  birds,  except  the  strain, 
Of  red-breast  pleading  for  the  rain, 
And  one  persistent  crow  beside, 


POEMS.  95 

Who  taxes  his  untiring  throat, 
With  his  own  pheesy,  cawing  note, 
As  fain  his  discontent  to  hide. 

In  the  balm  breathing  solitudes, 
The  fir-tree's  fragrant  gum  exudes, 
Drawn  by  the  Sun's  o'er-ardent  kiss; 
And  star-flowers  scarcely  hold  their  grace, 
Although  they  have  the  coolest  place, 
In  the  o'er-shadowed  creek's  abyss. 

All  faintly  breathes  the  drooping  rose, 
And  through  her  tinted  tissue  clothes, 
The  worm,  a  labyrinth  begins  ; 
Her  leaves  no  honey  drops  conceal ; 
Only  her  golden  pollen  meal 
The  bumble-bee's  attention  wins. 

And  dust  and  haze  are  everywhere 
In  all  the  over-heated  air  ; 
Earth  waits  with  an  endurance  dumb : 
And  Nature,  in  her  quiet  trust, 
Bears  witness,  Providence  is  just  — 
Disproves  it  e'er  as  troublesome. 

O,  tired  and  fainting  heart  of  mine, 

Dust  lies  on  thy  forsaken  shrine, 

Hope  birds  withhold  their  cheering  lore  ; 

And  'mong  Love-roses  wings  about, 

The  melancholy  bird  of  Doubt, 

To  haunt  thee  with  his  "  nevermore  !  " 


96  POEMS. 

Yet  let  thy  future  strength  attest, 
That  thou  hast  counsel  found,  and  rest, 
At  mother  Nature's  ample  knee  ; 
That  evermore  her  rhythmic  strain 
Is  chorused  with  this  sweet  refrain, 
"  God  knoweth  what  is  best  for  thee  1 " 


| 


the      ain. 


flf  LONG  the  deep,  June  flooded  sky, 
11   The  golden  crested  cloud-bergs  lie, 
S)     And  round  the  mountain's  jagged  height, 
Ethereal  vapors,  silver  tipped, 
Float  like  celestial  mantles,  slipped 
From  angels  in  a  sudden  flight. 

Upon  the  rock  fresh  greenness  clings, 
And  on  the  knotted  forest  kings, 
The  lichens,  quaint  designs  emboss  ; 
And  where  the  ribbon  brooklet  slips, 
The  wild-flowers  ope  their  honied  lips, 
And  lean  with  whisperings  across. 

The  light  winds  dance,  and  breezes  fret 
The  clear  pond-pictures,  lily  set ; 
The  floral  star-queen  rocks  at  ease, 


POEMS.  97 

Reclining  on  her  mystic  bed, 

While  round  her  sapphire-pillowed  head, 

Disport  the  water  sylphides. 

The  wind-god  only  lifts  his  hand, 
And  sweeping  down  the  meadow  land, 
The  emerald  herbage-billows  pass, 
With  infant  buttercups  agleam, 
Whose  cups  of  golden  globules,  seem 
Like  sunshine  spattered  in  the  grass. 

Oh,  the  love  language  of  the  birds ! 

Those  witching,  instinct-fashioned  words  1 

The  bobolink  unwinds  its  voice 

In  one  inimitable  song, 

And  hum-birds  poise  and  flutter  long 

Among  the  blue-bells,  making  choice. 

The  sunlight's  faintest  blushes  close 
About  the  bosom  of  the  rose, 
Where  clings  the  wanton  butterfly ; 
And  pansies  ope  their  hoods  to  see 
The  blossom-serving  bumble-bee 
Heap  flower  amalgam  on  his  thigh. 

And  rustling  leaf,  and  whirring  wing, 
Light  gale  and  laughing  water-spring, 
Reveal  a  lesson  inspirate  ; 
For  Nature's  languages  sublime, 
Through  which  her  life  flows  into  rhyme, 
God's  perfect  method  indicate. 


98  POEMS. 

Full  oft  in  heat  and  blinding  dust, 
She  waits,  believing  God  is  just, 
With  no  discrepance  in  his  art : 
And  now  she  lifts  her  rain-bathed  face, 
Bidding  thee  trust  His  loving  grace, 
And  bide  thy  time,  o'er-anxious  heart  1 


A  IMPLY  a  common  man,  you  might  have  thought, 
JJ5^     At  the  first  glance  you  gave  him.    Look  again  1 
\f      You  find  a  strange,  magnetic  beauty  wrought 
Into  the  features  plain. 

And  there  was  one  look  you  would  know  him  by, 
From  every  other  man  upon  the  sod  ;  — 

A  majesty  around  the  shadowed  eye, 
That  gave  a  hint  of  God. 

His  soul,  whose  vision,  place  nor  power  could  dim, 
Moved  slow  and  reverently,  that  he  might  scan, 

And  not  mistake  the  part  assigned  to  him 
In  the  Creator's  plan. 

A  soul  that  built  upon  the  enduring  Rock 
The  waves  of  passion  move  not,  nor  disarm  ; 


POEMS.  99 

Whose  height,  above  the  tempest  and  the  shock, 
Reaches  eternal  calm. 

And  when  again  we  hailed  him  as  our  head, — 
Our  country's  guide  —  we  marked  the  trusting  grace 

And  solemn  light  of  faith  serenely  shed 
Upon  his  care-worn  face. 

And  when  he  spoke,  we  noted  he  had  grown  ; 

We  caught  his  sentences  with  bated  breath  ; 
And  by  their  simple  grandeur  might  have  known 

That  he  was  ripe  for  death. 

Have  known  it  by  his  spirit's  wondrous  thrift ; 

And  by  the  gracious  majesty  he  wore, 
Have  guessed  his  dear  feet  hastened,  sure  and  swift, 

To  touch  the  Eternal  Shore. 

Drawn  upward  to  his  place !     The  nation  shook 
With  love's  deep  grief,  but  Freedom's  brow  of  calm 

Kindled  to  splendor,  when  her  tribune  took 
Ascension  robe  and  palm. 

For  harps  at  first  indifferently  strung 

To  swell  the  praise  of  her  immortal  name, 

Are  clothed  with  harmony,  and  every  tongue 
With  Pentecostal  flame. 

Smile  down,  our  saint !  Humanity's  true  heart, 
Remains  for  aye,  a  monument  to  thee  :  — 


ioo  POEMS. 

Thy  sacred  name  engraved  in  every  part, 
High  priest  of  Liberty  ! 

For  sires  shall  tell  thy  story  to  their  sons, 

And  mothers  love  to  braid  thy  wreath  of  fame, 

And  all  the  prattle  of  our  little  ones 
Be  hallowed  by  thy  name. 

Thus  shall  we  hold  thee  with  us  till  we  stand 
Beyond  Time's  power  of  suffering  and  thrall, 

And  reach  to  touch  thy  royal  spirit  hand, 
In  Heaven's  reception  hall. 


jjfS  there  a  single  human  heart, 
||     Is  there  a  household  that  has  not, 
J       From  other  places  held  apart, 
Some  sacred  spot, 

Where,  rising  o'er  material  law, 
To  commerce  with  superior  things, 

The  soul  receives  with  raptured  awe, 
Strange  visitings. 


POEMS.  I0i 

And  oftenest,  this  hallowed  place, 

Where  we  partake  celestial  food, 
Where  Mystery  unveils  her  face, 

And  pale  wings  brood,  — 

Through  Sorrow's  vestibule  obtains, 
Where  Love,  bereaved  and  desolate, 

Sits  wrestling  with  her  anguish  pains 
Before  the  gate. 

Oh,  well  we  know  thou  art  divine, 
Thou  Providence  in  gloomy  guise  1 

For  gracious  quickenings  of  thine 
Have  oped  our  eyes. 

A  single  knoll,  a  narrow  mound, 

A  little  cell  in  Nature's  breast, 
Where  death-in-life  has  heaved  the  ground 

And  built  a  nest, 

There  is  our  charmed  and  hallowed  place, 

Where  opens  to  our  spirit  eyes 
The  labyrinth  through  which  we  trace 

Celestial  skies. 

Oh,  soft  about  the  lowly  bed, 

The  feather-footed  summer  comes, 

The  glad  bird  circles  overhead, 
The  wild  bee  hums, 

And  stealthily,  from  distant  lake, 
The  lightest,  wave-cooled  zephyr  creeps, 


POEMS. 

And  blossoms  swing,  and  grasses  shake, 
Where  beauty  sleeps. 

There,  standing  by  the  mound,  when  Night 
Her  halo  wonderful  has  brought, 

And  mystic  vapors,  moving  light, 
Moonbeam  enwrought, 

Float  by  me  in  transparent  mass,— 
I  seem  to  see,  through  eager  eyes, 

Her  feet  on  spectre  rainbows  pass 
Along  the  skies. 

O  vision  beyond  thought !     How  poor 
The  earthly  portrait  left  to  me, 

How  dim  the  gauze- en  wrapped  contour, 
Compared  with  thee, 

Whose  drapery  lights  the  airy  plains, 
And  waves  along  the  ether  voids, 

And  trails  among  the  golden  grains 
Of  asteroids. 

We  mny  not  touch,  etherial  one, 
The  glory  of  thy  vesture  hem  1 

We  may  not  live  and  gaze  upon 
Thy  diadem ! 

Yet  standing  by  that  humble  mound, 
We  break  with  thee  immortal  leaven, 

And  all  the  place  is  hallowed  ground, 
And  breathes  of  Heaven, 


POEMS. 

Gone  !  yet  forevermore  retained, 
By  links  no  forces  can  out-brave : 

We  lose  not  all  that  Heaven  has  gained 
Through  Lina's  grave. 


Inscribed  to  DR.  WILLIAM  F.  COOFER. 

jjjv  FRIEND  unmet!!     My  soul  is  stirred, 
Jn   Because  a  voice  I  never  heard, 
J     Has  fashioried  me  a  gracious  word. 

Because  a  heart  I  never  knew, 
Has  sent  a  message  kind  and  true, 
Which  gladdens  me  beyond  my  due. 

1  cannot  clasp  thy  kindly  hand, 
For  many  weary  leagues  of  land, 
Stretch  out  from  thee  to  where  I  stand. 

But  Mind  is  limitless  and  free  ; 
And  distance  cannot  hold  from  thee 
The  meed  of  grateful  sympathy. 

The  friends  that  serve  thes,  being  nigh, 
Thy  noble  virtues  may  descry, 
Vet  know  thee  not  as  well  as  I, 


104  POEMS. 

For  I  have  chanced  to  sit  and  sup 
With  secret  trial ;  —  lifted  up 
And  tasted  of  that  bitter  cup. 

The  thorns  that  rob  thee  of  repose, 
And  leave  no  Eden  dream,  are  those 
That  never  evidence  the  rose. 

And  where  Love's  glory  might  have  shone, 
Medusa  sits  upon  the  throne, 
And  thou  hast  towered  up  alone. 

0  friend,  it  is  not  meet  that  I 
Should  mock  a  spirit  sitting  high 
And  calm  in  its  sublimity, 

With  voice  of  counsel !     He  is  strong, 
Whose  heart  has  patiently  and  long, 
Received  the  barb  of  subtle  wrong. 

1  think  of  thee,  and  only  say, 
Heaven  has  its  own  peculiar  way 
Of  molding  angels  out  of  clay. 

Deep  are  the  chisellings  of  God, 
And  heavy  the  Almighty  rod, 
That  works  a  seraph  from  a  clod. 

Be  mine  the  part  to  emulate 

The  action  kind  and  purpose  great, 

Which  make  thee  rich  in  soul  estate. 


POEMS.  105 

That  I  may  now  and  then  beguile 
The  lips  of  Poverty  to  smile, 
And  weary  hands  to  rest  awhile. 

And  thus  attaining  to  thy  grace, 

I  '11  meet  thee,  some  day,  face  to  face, 

In  an  eternal  dwelling  place* 


ur 


•jQRAVEST  of  Nations,  she  moved  through  the 
311  shadow : 

Jy/1 

™  Tempest  and  darkness  encompassed  her  way; 
Gleaming  she  threaded  the  black  thunder  billow, 
And  wreathed  \\ith  the  lightning  she  rose  into  day; 

Bravest  of  Nations  \ 
Victory's  palm  on  her  white  forehead  lay. 

Grandest  of  Nations  1     She  stood  in  a  halo,  — 
A  glory  that  Justice  and  Liberty  wrought ; 
Spirit  wings  dipping  from  arches  above  her, 
Auras  of  purified  radiance  brought ; 

Grandest  of  Nations  1 
Crowned  with  the  light  of  her  luminous  thought. 

Fairest  of  Nations  !     Love's  beautiful  lily, 
Oped  on  her  bosom  with  honey  to  drip ; 


106  POEMS. 

Weary  ones  yearned  to  her  fragrance  and  whiteness, 
Thronging  the  nectar  of  mercy  to  sip ; 

Fairest  of  Nations ! 
Deity's  kiss  upon  forehead  and  lip! 

Strongest  of  Nations  !  with  white  hands  she  lifted 
Into  the  light,  the  oppressed  and  the  low  ; 
Smote  with  her  lightning  the  tyrant  and  traitor  ; 
Witnessing  God  to  the  world  in  the  blow ; 

Strongest  of  Nations ! 
Angel  avenging  Humanity's  woe. 

Swiftest  of  Nations  !  pursuing  with  fleetness, 
Sacred  ideals  thrown  up  from  the  soul ; 
On  and  yet  onward  with  true  poet-passion, 
Up  where  the  mystical  symphonies  roll ; 

Swiftest  of  Nations ! 
Low  are  the  stars  from  the  infinite  goal. 

Dearest  of  Nations  !  O,  pause  not  uncertain 
Of  truest  completeness  !     We  tremble  for  thee  ! 
Phantoms  of  terror  brood  over  our  gladness  ! 
All  the  world  pants  thy  fruition  to  see  ! 

Dearest  of  Nations ! 
Earth  leans  to  Heaven  with  a  passionate  plea. 

Light  of  the  Nations  !  bear  onward  the  standard, 
Justice  emblazoned,  and  Mercy  empearled  ! 
Not  till  the  whole  of  the  old  Wrong  is  righted, 
Let  the  wide  folds  of  thy  banner  be  furled  1 

Light  of  the  Nations  ! 
Star  of  Humanity  —  Hope  of  the  world  1 


POEMS.  107 


'rf  WAS  a  secret  to  all  that  I  loved  him ; 
3]    I  folded  it  close  in  my  heart  — 

J    In  the  leaves  of  my  blossoming  heart  — 
And  it  seemed  to  those  blood-beating  petals 
The  nourishing,  life-giving  part ; 
And  I  said  "  There  is  nobody  knows 
What  is  hid  in  the  cup  of  my  rose  — 
What  a  drop  of  sweet  dew 
Is  concealed  from  the  view 
Of  all  eyes,  in  my  pulse-throbbing  rose." 

But  I  never  had  thought  of  the  angels  — 

That  they  could  look  into  my  soul, 

And  read  every  page  of  my  soul : 

Their  clear  eyes  discovered  the  treasure  ; 

The  life-giving  secret  they  stole  ; 

Then  they  envied  me  what  was  so  dear ; 

And  they  charmed  him  away  who  was  dear ; 

So  the  crimson  heart-rose 

That  began  to  unclose 

Its  beauty,  is  blighted  and  sere. 

But  the  spirit  of  him  that  I  worshipped 
Is  stronger  and  kinder  than  they  ; 


xo8  POEMS. 

The  angels  that  charmed  him  away  — 

For  he  comes  through  the  star-lighted  darkness, 

About  my  lone  pillow  to  stay  : 

And  the  moon,  peering  into  my  room, 

Lighting  up  the  mysterious  gloom, 

Looks  frighted  and  pale 

Through  her  thin  silver  vail, 

As  though  she  shone  into  a  tomb. 

I  know  not  if,  waking  or  sleeping, 

My  soul  is  enwrapt  in  a  dream  — 

In  a  mystical  vision  or  dream  — 

When  the  Night  watches  me  like  a  mother, 

And  the  wan  stars  fitfully  gleam  ; 

For  there  rises  a  shadowy  host  — 

A  wavering,  shadowy  host  — 

And  they  sway  to  and  fro 

Near  a  river's  deep  flow, 

On  the  shores  of  a  shade-haunted  coast. 


There  is  one  I  can  tell  from  all  others, 
By  the  clear,  tender  glance  of  his  eyes  — 
The  mild,  melting  blue  of  his  eyes  — 
There  is  no  earthly  tint  like  the  color  ; 
It  only  is  matched  by  the  skies  ; 
And  he  wanders  apart  from  the  rest, 
And  he  folds  me  so  close  to  his  breast  ! 
Can  an  angel  attain 
The  place  that  I  gain  — 
That  coveted  pillow  —  his  breast  ? 


POEMS.  109 

Then  he  puts  his  lip  down  to  my  forehead, 

Yet  never  can  leave  me  a  kiss  ; 

Oh  could  he  once  leave  me  a  kiss, 

The  saints  in  the  gold-streeted  city 

Ne'er  claimed  such  a  moment  of  bliss  \ 

But  he  lifts  up  a  radiant  wing  — 

An  eagerly  quivering  wing  — ] 

And  he  floats  from  my  gaze 

In  a  circle  of  rays, 

Like  a  crystal  gem  set  in  a  ring. 

And  I  joy  that  the  soul-reading  angels 
Cannot  always  lure  him  from  me, 
Nor  hold  him  from  corning  to  me  \ 
For  when  the  Night  sits  like  a  mother, 
And  hushes  the  wail  of  the  sea, 
And  quiets  the  land  with  her  power, 
Ah,  that  is  the  time  and  the  hour, 
When  he  comes  to  unclose 
My  withered  heart-rose, 
And  it  opens  a  beautiful  flower. 


no  POEMS. 


t  it 


Inscribed  to  GEN.  JOHN  A.  LOGAN,  iS6& 

£f  MONO  the  evergreens  of  Thought, 
J\   My  soul  has  wandered  all  the  day : 
4     Yet  vainly  for  thy  forehead  wrought 
A  crown  of  bay. 

My  earnest  spirit  quite  forgot 
The  measure  of  its  poet  grace  ; 
Such  tiny  laurels  as  I  knot, 
Are  out  of  place. 

The  garden  of  a  single  soul 
Gives  weak  supply.     Thy  crown  leaves  start, 
And  ope  to  greenness  in  a  whole 
Great  nation's  heart. 

As  action  overtops  its  theme, 
So  thou  did  'st  rise  at  Freedom's  need, 
And  change  the  poet's  noblest  dream 
To  crystal  deed. 

And  over-leaped  in  quick  disdain, 
The  olden  limit,  —  Faction's  wall  — 


POEMS.  in 

And  severed  the  ignoble  chain 
Of  party  thrall. 

Thus  thy  inherent  royalty, 
Flashed  strong  and  sudden  into  light;—- 
The  champion  of  Liberty 
And  human  right. 

No  smaller  task  for  thee,  the  while 
Thy  country  sat  in  sad  eclipse, 
Than  to  bring  back  again  the  smile 
Unto  her  lips. 

And  sphere  her  in  serener  air, 
And  purer  glory  than  of  yore, 
And  crown  her  more  divinely  fair 
Than  ere  before. 

It  was  thy  being's  chosen  part, 
To  know  a  loyal  people's  will, 
To  learn  and  serve  a  nation's  heart, 
Its  hope  fulfil 

So  may  a  nation's  soul  alone, 
Reach  the  clear  level  of  thy  brow :  — 
Her  grateful  heart,  the  fitting  throne 
For  such  as  thou. 

And  while  all  noble  voices  swell 
The  praises  which  to  thee  belong, 
I  only  ring  this  lily-bell 
Of  simple  song. 


lit  POEMS. 

And  fold  its  faintness  in  a  prayer, 
And  gird  its  weakness  with  a  plea* 
That  proves  how  earnestly  I  dare 
Petition  thee. 

I  ask  that  the  imprisoned  thought, 
Held  in  abeyance  in  thine  eyes, 
And  waiting  for  the  people's  "  ought ' 
May  swift  arise, 

And  leap  to  freedom  on  thy  tongue, 
And  fashion  there  as  grand  a  word 
As  Hope  or  P'aith  have  ever  sung, 
Or  Justice  heard. 

Oh  loose  to  us  this  ultimate 
That  glorifies  thy  glance !     Set  free 
The  kingly  purpose  that  doth  wait 
Thy  will's  decree. 

And  with  thy  brave  abandon,  charge 
As  leader  in  the  moral  fight, 
Till  Victory's  meaning  shall  enlarge 
To  perfect  Right. 


POEMS. 


ffN  the  curtained  gloom 

31   Of  my  sitting-room, 

J     I  wait  and  watch  with  my  dead  Past 

Cold  and  calm, 

In  spice  and  balm, 

Beautiful,  though  of  life  bereft  5 

She  lies  in  state  ;  and  every  trace 

Of  warmth  and  light  in  her  pure  swee't  face 

Is  gone,  —  but  the  look  of  love  is  left. 

And  just  for  the  sake  of  that  dear  look 

That  even  the  hand  of  Death  forbore 

To  steal,  I  sit  in  this  curtained  nook, 

And  guard  and  watch  her  evermore. 

Very  gently  I  touch  the  veil, 

And  turn  it  back  from  the  features  pale, 

Gently  I  touch  her  hand  of  pearl, 

And  the  silken  thread  of  fading  curl, 

Ligh  Jy  I  brush  the  fragrant  nest 

Of  roses  and  hli'js  on  her  breast, — 

The  fiawers  ray  dead  Past  loved  the  best : 

Soitly  1  move  in  the  shadowy  gloom, 

Careiully  step  in  this  sacred  tomb 

That  others  entitle  my  "  sitting-room." 


4  POEMS. 

She  had  so  frank  and  simple  a  grace,  — 
My  Past — that  I  cannot  remember  a  trace 
Of  pride  that  darkened  her  innocent  face. 
And  now  that  the  light  and  life  are  gone 
From  her  clear  gay  eyes,  and  brow  of  dawn, 
I  watch,  as  a  miser  does  his  gains, 
The  look  of  love  that  still  remains, 
And  I  hide  her  here  where  none  may  see, 
For  nobody  cares  for  her  but  me. 

She  died  on  a  glorious  July  day  : 

The  meadows  were  ripe  and  sweet  with  hay, 

And  the  purple  mountains,  erect  and  bold, 

Propped  pyramid  clouds  of  ruffled  gold. 

On  elms  the  oriole  families  swung, 

And  under  the  willows  rivulets  sung  ; 

The  pocket-blossom  hung  out  a  risk 

Its  golden  bags,  and  the  yellow  disc 

Of  the  radiate  fever-few,  was  spurred 

By  the  bill  of  the  burnished  humming-bird  > 

Rutland  Beauties  hung  over  the  eaves, 

Joyful  twitters  were  up  in  the  leaves  ; 

Happy-eyed  children  ran  in  and  out, 

With  song,  and  laughter,  and  raid,  and  rout  > 

Boys  in  the  wood  were  hunting  for  grouse  : 

No  one  dreamed  there  was  death  in  the  house. 

For  I  hid  my  pain,  and  my  eyes  were  calm, 

While  I  brought  the  spices,  the  myrrh,  and  balm, 

And  Laid  her  out  in  the  curtained  gloom, 

And  watched  by  her  in  my  sitting-room. 


POEMS.  115 

I  heard  no  sound  of  funeral  knells ; 

Yet  all  that  day,  across  my  ear, 

The  western  breeze  brought  faint  but  clear, 

The  far  off  peal  of  happy  bells  ;  — 

A  joyful  ring,  like  marriage  bells  ; 

Nor  wall  nor  door  could  shut  away 

That  wedding  chime  ;  but  all  the  day, 

It  told  me  two  fond  hearts  were  gay. 

Two  hearts  had  loved,  while  mine  had  bled. 

And  I  —  I  watched  beside  my  dead. 

Sometimes  the  world,  all  wantonly  drest, 
Peeps  in  at  my  door  in  its  holiday  best, 
And  stabs  my  heart  with  a  bantering  jest. 
And  I  fling  back  laughter  as  best  I  may, 
And  it  never  mistrusts  from  my  answers  gay, 
That  I  watch  with  my  dead  here,  night  and  day. 

Outside  my  window  the  Present  stands, 
With  orange  flowers  in  her  graceful  hands. 
A  crown  for  a  bride  !     My  soul  starts  back  I 
My  heart  lies  quivering  on  the  rack  ! 
Braid  their  bloom  for  another  head  ! 
Give  me  an  amaranth  instead ! 
Lovers  and  husbands  seek  for  eyes, 
Where  merriment  lurks  in  twinkling  guise  ; 
For  polished  foreheads  without  a  line, 
Not  marked  with  thought  and  pain  like  mine. 
Lovers  and  husbands  choose  to  sip 
The  honey  of  love  from  a  laughing  lip  ; 
Not  one  that  moves  with  a  prayer  or  chant : 


n6  POEMS. 

The  pearl-cleft  mouth,  with  a  kiss  to  grant, 
With  men  all  soberer  lips  supplant 

I  know  outside  the  pigeon  coos 

To  his  mottled  mate  upon  her  nest  j 

His  russet  wife  the  sparrow  woos, 

In  the  briary  hedge,  as  they  sit  abreast ; 

Wedded  butterflies  swing  and  rock 

On  the  goring  skirted  Hollyhock, 

Or  the  Blue-weed's  red  and  slender  bole ; 

And  close  in  the  tube  of  the  Gladiole, 

Insects,  sheltered  from  wind  and  weather, 

Lead  a  conjugal  life  together. 

But  nestless,  mateless,  I  watch  and  wait, 

'Till  an  angel  warden  opens  the  gate, 

And  the  spirit  of  my  dead  Past  shall  rise> 

Changeless  in  her  immortal  guise, 

And  make  my  Heaven  beyond  the  skies* 


f'HE  pearly  gray  banner  of  morning, 
Rolled  up  on  the  soft,  early  gale, 
And  left  the  bright  timings  of  sunlight, 
To  flush  over  mountain  and  vale  : 


POEMS.  117 

When  I  heard  a  sweet  musical  echo, 
Borne  on  in  the  voice  of  a  rill, 
And  I  knew  it  was  Spring  that  was  singing, 
And  tripping  down  over  the  hill. 

Her  fragrant  and  light  respiration 

Was  scenting  the  fluttering  breeze, 

And  a  balm,  from  her  buff  colored  garment, 

Blew  up  through  the  tall  willow  trees  : 

So  I  ran  to  the  valley  to  meet  her  ; 

She  came  like  a  garlanded  queen  ; 

With  violets  set  as  a  trimming, 

All  over  her  mantle  of  green. 

In  the  gathered  up  folds  of  her  raiment, 

She  'd  gifts  for  the  youthful  and  old, 

With  purple  leaved  flowers  for  the  children, 

And  half  opened  blossoms  of  gold  ; 

But  fairest  of  all  her  gay  treasures, 

And  dearer  by  far  than  the  rest, 

Was  the  beautiful-eyed  "  La  belle  Flora," 

She  smilingly  laid  on  my  breast. 

An  angel  flew  earthward,  she  told  me, 
And  laid  the  young  bud  in  her  hand, 
And  I,  —  I  alone,  —  had  been  chosen, 
To  teach  its  sweet  bloom  to  expand ; 
With  such  a  dear  charge  on  my  bosom, 
My  Fancy  folds  up  her  bright  wing, 
While  I  cloister  myself  with  my  treasure, 
Forgetting  the  blue-birds  and  Spring. 


n8  POEMS. 

I  tenderly  watch  its  unfolding, 
This  angel-lent,  opening  flower  \ 
My  soul's  purest  fount  of  affection, 
Is  stirred  with  a  magical  power ; 
Oh  never  around  my  gay  pathway, 
Has  such  a  love  fragrance  been  shed, 
And  Life  that  seemed  mocking  and  fickle, 
Is  earnest  and  holy  instead. 

Friend  or  foe  may  not  claim  the  exotic, 
Whose  root  has  grown  into  my  heart ; 
Yet  I  know  that  some  day  a  pale  Reaper 
Is  coming  to  take  us  apart : 
'T  is  likely  he  '11  cut  down  the  fairest, 
And  bear  "  La  belle  Flora  "  away, 
Far  over  a  sad-singing  river, 
Once  more  with  the  angels  to  stay. 

Good  Father,  bestower  of  blessings, 
Thou  knowest  how  earnest  my  prayer  1 
Give  grace,  from  thy  spirit  to  cherish, 
This  blossom,  with  tenderest  care ! 
And  when  the  pale  Reaper  shall  enter, 
To  take  back  my  beautiful  one, 
Oh  help  me  to  say  with  submission, 
"  Thy  will,  righteous  Father,  be  done  1 " 


POEMS.  119 


tfte  $ca 


9jf  HE  Sea,  to  me,  is  a  mystery 
4j      That  wraps  me  in  its  spell ; 
j      And  what  the  wild  old  Ocean  says, 
Who  shall  divine,  or  tell  ? 

I  met  a  bright-haired  boy  to-day, 

While  strolling  on  the  strand,  — 
A  sweet-faced  child,  who  gently  led 

An  old  man  by  the  hand. 

And  I  said  within,  "  I  '11  question  these, 

Of  the  mystery  of  the  wave  ; 
For  one  so  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God, 

And  one  so  near  the  grave, 

Perchance  may  catch  some  spirit  word 
From  the  notes  of  Earth's  alloy  ;  — 

The  word  that  the  soul  of  Nature  speaks." 
So  I  turned  me  to  the  boy. 

The  happiest  smile  broke  o'er  his  face; 

"  Do  you  see  the  waves  at  play  ? 
Don't  you  know  what  the  gay,  blue  billow  does  ? 
It  laughs  forever  and  aye." 


120  POEMS. 

Then  I  turned  to  the  tottering  man,  "  Pray  tell 

What  the  restless  waters  say  ? " 
"  Can't  you  hear  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  wondering  tone, 

"  It  murmurs  and  moans  for  aye." 


of  HY  heart  is  like  a  damask  rose, 
II    Whose  outer  leaves  are  sere ; 
j    And  on  the  velvet  petals,  soft, 
Some  withering  stains  appear  : 
Yet,  in  its  golden  centre  close, 
A  gem  is  hid  from  view, 
For  I  have  turned  the  leaflets  back, 
And  seen  that  drop  of  dew. 

Thy  heart  is  like  the  peerless  moon, 

Hung  in  a  heaven  of  cloud  ; 

It  holds  its  strange  and  lonely  way, 

Mysterious  and  proud : 

And  though  its  earth-side  only  shows 

One  single  line  of  light, 

I  know  the  part  that  turns  to  heaven, 

Is  gloriously  bright. 

Thy  heart  is  like  an  ocean  shell, 
That  underneath  the  tide, 


POEMS.  121 

With  many  a  strange,  unseemly  thing, 

Reposes  side  by  side : 

Some  clay  the  earnest  diver  lifts 

The  ocean -toy  to  air  ; 

The  close-locked  cell  is  oped,  and  lol 

A  pearl  is  chambered  there. 

Thy  heart  is  like  yon  floating  cloud, 

That  sails  the  tinted  skies  ; 

Yet,  to  that  snow-white  argosy, 

Earth's  exhalations  rise  : 

But  He  who  formed  that  spotless  thing, 

An  hour  has  surely  given, 

In  which  't  will  shower  its  burdens  down, 

And  lose  itself  in  heaven. 


flit  (I 


'of  IS  well  that  each  life  has  its  shadow  1 
41    The  flower  long  exposed  to  the  ray 

j    Of  the  radiant  sun  of  the  summer, 
Will  languish  and  wither  away ; 
But  when  the  dim  gloom  of  the  evening 
Embraces  each  tendril  and  stem, 
There  falls,  on  the  breast  of  the  blossom, 
A  cooling  and  life-giving  gem. 


122  POEMS. 

Thus,  when  we  have  lived  in  the  brightness 

And  sun  of  Prosperity's  hour, 

The  soul  is  too  weak  to  inherit, 

One  half  of  its  God-given  dower. 

But  when  the  dark  shades  of  Misfortune 

Are  gathering  thick  overhead, 

Upon  the  faint  spirit,  the  dew-drops 

Of  trust  and  religion  are  shed. 

All  thanks  be  to  Thee,  loving  Father, 

For  darkness,  as  well  as  for  cheer ; 

'T  is  only  a  form  of  Thy  mercy, 

The  shades  that  envelop  us  here. 

No  !  not  from  Adversity's  trial, 

From  tempest  nor  pall  would  we  flee ; 

For  the  pathway,  encompassed  with  shadows, 

Will  lead  us  the  soonest  to  Thee. 


x\N  balmy  days,  an  aged  couple  came ; 
1U  Oldest  of  all  that  bore  our  ancient  name ; 

J    Grandparents !  how  we  ran  their  steps  to  meet ; 
How  many  voices  rang  a  welcome  greet ; 
With  haste  we  brought  the  easy  rocking-chair, 
Arranged  the  cushions  with  a  kindly  care, 
And  oped  the  casement,  that  the  fragrant  breeze, 


POEMS.  123 

Might,  stealing  in,  their  weary  senses  please. 

Grandmother  sat  in  cap  of  linen  fine, 

Her  shining  forehead  seamed  with  many  a  line, 

Her  muslin  kerchief,  free  from  stain  or  speck, 

Laid  in  neat  folds  was  pinned  about  the  neck, 

And  her  thin  fingers  kept  a  ceaseless  play 

With  knitting-needles,  all  the  summer  day. 

There  was  a  kind  of  dignity  she  wore, 

That  won  my  love  and  reverence  the  more  ; 

It  was  so  mixed  with  gentleness  and  cheer, 

That  all  my  awe  had  not  a  shade  of  fear ; 

I  Ve  learned,  since  then,  't  was  Christian  grace  that 

shed, 

It 's  halo  mild  about  her  silvered  head, 
That  lent  a  softened  influence  to  her  face, 
And  gave  her  language  such  peculiar  grace. 
Grandfather,  with  his  staff  across  his  knee, 
Cracked  his  rare  jokes  in  real  hearty  glee  : 
So  old  his  dim  blue  eyes  could  hardly  trace 
The  separate  features  of  each  childish  face  \ 
Yet  still,  with  every  other  pleasure  past, 
He  held  to  mirth  and  laughter  to  the  last  : 
T  was  then  we  spread,  and  heaped  the  ample  board, 
With  choicest  food  our  bounty  could  afford, 
And  over  all  he  raised  his  withered  hand, 
And  bowed  his  head,  a  blessing  to  command 
On  all  before  him,  body,  soul,  and  food, 
Of  Him  who  is  the  fountain-head  of  Good. 

Those  dear  old  people !  shade  and  sunshine  keep 
A  checkered  play,  above  their  silent  sleep ; 


124  POEMS. 

The  church-yard  grass,  with  solemn  movement  waves 
A  rustling  dirge,  about  their  humble  graves ; 
Upon  the  world  they  held  no  lasting  claim, 
Of  famous  deed,  of  power,  of  titled  name  ; 
No  monumental  urn  has  marked  the  sod, 
Yet  this  is  more  than  all,  they  served  their  God. 


oul 


*U 


still,  my  woman's  soul,  nor  seek  to  gain 
The  glorious  heights  that  stronger  ones  attain, 
But  in  the  vale  do  thou  content  remain  ! 

While  mental  suns  rise  towering  o'er  the  hill, 
In  thy  retreat,  still  work  with  cheerful  will, 
And  for  thy  rush-light  offer  praises  still ! 

Calm  thy  ambitious  pulse  !  Turn  back  thy  feet, 
And  walk  with  quiet  step  !  For  it  is  mete 
That  thou  should  'st  occupy  the  lowest  seat. 

Lose  not  the  Now  !     The  future  may  enfold 
No  radiant  gems  within  its  secret  hold, 
Then  gather  up  thy  little  grains  of  gold  ! 


POEMS.  125 

When  Vanity  allures  with  sweet  caress, 
And  breathes  her  subtle  whisper  of  success, 
Turn  thou  and  wander  in  the  wilderness  1 

There  wrestle,  O  my  tempted  woman's  soul  1 
There  nurse  resolve,  and  strengthen  self-control, 
For  present  duty !     Not  for  future  goal. 

Stifle  Self's  worrying  persistent  call ! 

Thy  corner  in  God's  vineyard,  being  small, 

Thou  must  fill  up  with  beauty !     'T  is  thy  all. 

Thus  do,  and  this  true  glory  shalt  thou  wear; 
The  Lord  will  come,  and  say  that  choicest  care 
Was  given  to  that  little  corner  there. 


esP          A 

I fe  Mwnt  of 

V     <r 


SPRING. 

ALD  theme !  dear  theme  !  I  take  it  up  again. 
JJfj  With  all  this  blue  and  white  spread  overhead, 

j    With  all  this  balmy  incense  in  the  air, 
With  all  this  sweet  disturbance  in  the  ground, 
What  can  we  do,  but  talk  and  write  of  Spring  ? 
I  saw  her  when  she  first  came  into  view, 
One  morning,  as  the  day  was  waking  up ; 


I26  POEMS. 

I  saw  a  glimmering  halo  in  the  east, 
Reflected  from  the  glory  of  her  hair  ; 
And  the  pink  beauty  glowing  on  her  cheek, 
The  mirror  sky  caught  up,  and  vainly  thought 
Such  coloring  its  own. 

The  Earth  was  dead, 

For  ice  was  in  its  veins,  and  spotless  robes, 
Such  as  the  old  year  wraps  in  at  his  death, 
Made  a  pure  drapery  for  so  grand  a  corpse  : 
But  she  —  young  Spring  —  fair  Resurrectionist, 
Laid  her  warm  hands  on  Nature's  frozen  tongue, 
And  with  her  light  electric  finger  touched 
The  arching  mountain  brows.     I  saw  the  Earth, 
Trembling  with  tingling  life,  cast  off  her  shroud, 
The  blue-veined  brooklets  pulsed  along  her  face, 
And  purest  lymph  went  slowly  trickling  through 
Her  warming  breast,  and  the  stiff  vocal  chords, 
A  long  time  silent  in  her  throat  of  snow, 
Began  to  sound  a  varied  harmony. 
Then  Spring,  the  bright  awakener,  girded  up 
The  living  Earth  with  belts  of  rarest  green, 
So  the  whole  landscape  smiled  until  it  showed 
The  dimples  in  its  face  ;  —  those  valley  dents, 
Marked  with  a  deeper  hue,  at  which  the  sun 
Steals  ardent  glances,  but  with  softer  gaze 
Than  his  hot  eye  is  wont  to  cast  upon 
The  bold  and  brazen  hills. 

"The  virgin  Spring;" 

We  hear  them  call  the  laughing  season  thus : 
Yet  her  shy  maiden  coyness  she  has  lost ; 
For  now  she  pricks  the  softened  flesh  of  Earth 


POEMS.  127 

With  slender  shoots,  and  tickles  round  her  sides 
With  primrose  twigs,  or  turns  her  out-spread  lap 
Into  a  mammoth  vase,  for  leaves  and  flowers. 
She  has  a  generous  sauciness  I  love ! 
And  when  I  feel  her  softly  blowing  breath, 
Lifting  the  mass  of  auburn  from  my  brow, 
My  foolish  heart  grows  weak  to  childishness ; 
And  childhood  years,  I  live  them  o'er  again. 

Just  here  I  '11  paint  a  picture  that  comes  back. 

My  mother,  with  an  energetic  tread, 

And  eyes  like  stars  set  in  a  heaven  of  blue, 

Walks  out  among  the  bursting  garden  beds, 

Seeking  for  crimson,  bulbous  headed  plants, 

And  praises  their  precocity  when  found  ; 

And  sister  Lillie,  with  her  handsome  head 

Drooping  to  one  side,  bent  by  such  a  weight 

Of  cloudy,  shining  hair,  sits  down  and  sings 

A  carol  to  the  morn,  where  fragrant  gums 

Drop  from  an  agitated,  trembling  tree ; 

We  always  call  it  "  Balm  of  Gilead." 

My  father,  with  a  music  in  his  soul 

Which  makes  no  discord  with  the  world  without, 

Stands  on  the  hill,  and  counts  the  growing  flocks ; 

And  I  —  a  lambkin  —  sporting  with  the  lambs, 

He  smiles  upon,  and  counts  the  most  of  all. 

It  cannot  be  that  years  have  passed  away 

Since  that  dear  scene  was  real !     Were  I  there 

To-day,  should  I  not  see  the  tiny  prints 

Of  my  bare  feet  upon  the  yielding  moss, 

That  clustered  on  the  pasture  rocks  ? 


128  POEMS. 

Thus  Spring, 

My  own  loved  limner,  brushes  up  anew, 
Each  year,  these  pictures  of  my  early  days. 
Oh  there  are  memories  come  surging  o'er 
The  ocean  of  my  thoughts,  which  move  alone 
The  billows  of  my  soul,  when  first  appears 
Young  verdure  under  foot,  and  April  skies 
Above.     Remembrances  of  Life's  gay  spring 
Are  with  me,  when  a  quickened  germ  I  waved, 
All  glittering  with  morning  dews,  upon 
The  breezy,  shining  mountain-tops  of  Hope ; 
Not  knowing  what  my  leaves  might  prove  to  be, 
I  fancied  they  would  some  day  surely  tower 
High  in  the  sunlight.     Now  Life's  summer  Js  come, 
How  has  it  proved  ?    A  drooping  vine  I  cling 
Upon  the  arm  of  love,  with  one  white  flower 
Upon  the  parent  stock,  to  brighten  all 
My  shade.     God  bring  it  to  a  perfect  fruit  I 
Fast  in  Affection's  vale  I  'm  rooted  now, 
Far  from  the  airy  heights  on  which  I  thought 
To  stand  ;  and  yet  I  know  Jt  is  dearer  far 
To  be  a  vine,  and  live  in  love's  cool  green, 
Than  grow  a  towering  palm-tree  in  the  sands. 
So  twine  thy  wreath  of  verdant  memories, 
First  daughter  of  the  Year,  about  my  heart, 
And  thou  wilt  love  me  none  the  less,  because 
My  feet  are  in  the  valleys. 


POEMS.  129 


SUMMER, 
/if  HE  Year  was   grieved   because   his   first-born 

|       child- 

j    His  daughter  with  the  violet-colored  eyes 
Whose   soul   of  gladness   made   him   name   her 

"Spring"  — 

Had  fled  he  knew  not  whither.     In  his  locks 
That  scarcely  yet  had  lost  the  gloss  of  youth, 
This  first  great  sorrow  left  its  silver  threads. 
But  time,  the  king  of  all  consoling  powers, 
Gave  him  another  child,  and  his  sad  heart 
Leaped  up  with  gladness  at  the  startling  sight 
Of  her  voluptuous  beauty.     So  he  named 
Her  "  Summer."     She  was  neither  babe  nor  child, 
But  wore  the  full  ripe  bloom  of  womanhood, 
When  Time  first  brought  her  to  the  mourning  Year. 

My  heart,  by  sympathy  made  prescient, 
Knew  well  her  hour  of  coming.     I  could  read 
The  crimson  herald  banners  in  the  sky, 
And  my  ear,  cognizant,  could  understand 
The  telagraphic  breezes.     Opened  buds 
Smiled  through  their  tears,  and  the  delicious  wind 
Lifted  with  gentle  touch  the  moistened  hair 
Above  my  forehead. 

Bird  and  insect  told 
The  day  of  Summer's  advent,  so  I  went 
To  seek  and  give  her  greeting.     In  a  vale 
Of  greenest  grass,  a  form  of  lovliness, 


I3o  POEMS. 

Luxuriant  in  beauty  beyond  need, 

My  search  rewarded.     Her  wide  floating  robe 

Of  lightest  gossamar,  but  half  concealed 

The  gracefulness  and  faultless  symmetry 

Of  her  proportions.     Of  a  pattern  strange, 

The  figures  were  of  her  etherial  skirt, 

That  fell  in  pliant  folds,  or  circled  large, 

Changing  the  style  and  aspect  of  her  charms. 

A  pictured  landscape,  mountain,  vale,  and  wood  — 

With  winding  silver  lines  and  oval  spots 

Of  watered  blue,  for  lake  and  stream  —  made  up 

The  curious  design.     Yet  through  it  all, 

The  polished  brightness  of  her  beauty  shone, 

In  mild  and  mellowed  lustre.     Knots  of  flowers  — 

The  lily,  and  the  small  cream-tinted  rose,  — 

Figured  her  brilliant  cestus.     Blooming  wreaths, 

Of  all  varities  of  richest  hues 

And  softly  blended  tints,  hung  careless  o'er 

The  slopings  of  her  Parian  marble  neck, 

And  falling  down,  with  rarest  petals  hid, 

The  sweet  alluring  beauty  of  her  breast. 

The  golden  torrent  of  her  unbound  hair. 

In  sunny  wave  and  shining  ripple  strayed 

Through  her  white  bosom's  valley ;  and  her  lips, 

Like  scarlet  buds  that  burst  apart  with  bloom, 

Showed  in  their  rosy  cleft,  a  line  of  pearl. 

The  color  of  her  cheek  was  like  the  glow 

That  mantles  on  a  cloud  that  sunset  loves,— 

Fading  and  deepening  with  a  measured  beat 

And  then  her  blue  unfathomable  eyes, 

Deep,  dark,  and  velvety  !     T  was  luxury 


POEMS.  131 

To  look  into  them.     All  the  breezy  air 
Was  spiced  and  balmy  with  her  fragrant  breath, 
While  glossy  winged  and  ruffled-throated  birds, 
With  large  and  tiny  warblers  gathered  near, 
To  join  in  one  ecstatic  welcome  song. 
Her  small  feet  glimmered  in  the  dewy  green, 
With  feathery  lightness,  crushing  not  a  flower 
In  their  soft  pressure,  and  above  each  shrub 
And  tiny  blade  she  bent  to  gaze  and  smile, 
Or  tarried  to  embrace  the  rugged  trees, 
Twining  her  white  and  gleaming  arms  about 
Their  boles  in  wanton  loveliness.     The  Months, 
Eager  and  hot  with  haste  were  hurrying  up 
To  pay  her  proud  allegiance,  and  the  Hours, 
Like  gold-winged  fire-flies  circled  'round  her  head, 
And  flew  along  her  path. 

Full  well  she  knew 
I  was  her  own  and  Nature's  votary, 
And  reaching  out  her  fingers  sweet  with  myrrh, 
Close  to  her  throbbing  breast  she  folded  me. 
I  nestled  down  among  the  roses  then. 
Half  wild  with  love,  and  frantic  with  delight, 
My  lips  clung  close  with  kisses,  till  I  lay 
Intoxicated  deep  on  Passion's  wine. 
I  even  wept  a  tear  of  ecstasy, 
That  fell  and  rolled  upon  a  glittering  line,  — 
A  single  thread  of  her  disordered  hair.  ' 
But  I  aroused  from  that  enthralling  trance, 
For  there  was  one  at  home  —  the  dearest  charge  — 
That  seasons  past  had  brought  me.     So  I  culled 
A  flower  from  out  her  wreath,  —  a  souvenir  — 


132 


POEMS. 


And  hurrying  back,  held  out  the  blushing  gift 
To  dimpled  fingers,  while  I  said,  "  I  plucked 
It  from  the  Summer's  budding  breast." 

To-day  I  went  to  seek  her  yet  again. 

I  found  her  in  the  fresh-mown  meadow  land, 

Through  which  a  stream  was  purling,  and  she  lay 

In  deep  repose,  reclining  on  a  mound 

Of  fragrant  hay.     Her  lips  were  berry  stained, 

A  butterfly  upon  her  bosom  rocked, 

While  bees  were  in  her  honey-flowers,  and  birds 

Pecked  ripened  seeds  from  out  her  half  shut  hand, 

A  checkered  adder  lay  in  seeming  sleep 

Across  her  slender  ankle,  but  he  left 

His  alabaster  throne  at  my  approach, 

And  glided  sinuously  among  the  brakes. 

I  did  not  wake  the  slumbering  one.     I  sighed 

To  see  that  only  one  of  all  the  months 

Still  waited  on  her  presence ;  and  the  wreaths 

Across  her  shoulders  wore  a  faded  hue, 

And  o'er  her  breast  with  agitation  shook, 

As  if  the  breath  was  troubled  underneath. 

My  lip  would  tremble,  as  I  bent  to  leave 

A  kiss  at  my  departure,  for  I  saw 

Upon  the  ivory  surface  of  her  brow, 

A  few  faint  lines.     Was  it  the  work  of  Care  ? 

Or  had  decay  and  blight  touched  her  who  seemed 

Immortal  in  her  beauty  and  her  bloom  ? 

Ah  1  much  I  fear  the  Year  will  grieve  again. 


POEMS.  133 


AUTUMN. 

AUMMER  was  dead  :  and  now  it  Was  the  day 
Jy  Of  Autumn's  grand  reception.     'T  was  the  time, 
"j     When  all,  who  sought  her  bounty,  should  receive 
Full  recompense  for  labor.     I  had  seen 
The  loaded,  wains  go  creaking  past  the  door, 
And  Poverty's  pale  children,  clad  in  rags, 
Walked  smiling  by,  with  pails  of  luscious  fruit : 
And  then  I  knew  the  geaerous  queen  had  come, 
Summer's  successor. 

I  was  e'er  a  true 

And  loyal  subject  to  the  reigning  power, 
And  strange  excitement  moved  me  as  I  went 
To  hail  her  Majesty.     An  open  space 
Of  undulating  upland,  girt  with  wood, 
An  island  in  a  lake  of  foliage, 
She  chose  for  her  reception-hall.     A  crowd 
Of  proud  attendants,  dressed  in  livery  gay, 
Came  in  her  train  ;  and  Ceres,  goddess  kind, 
Brought  all  her  yellow  sheaves  and  golden  corn, 
Like  a  true  maid  of  honor  ;  while  behind, 
Pomona  followed,  scattering  her  fruit, 
Half  dancing  to  the  tune  that  piping  Pan 
Was  playing  on  his  reed. 

But  Autumn  sure 

Was  glorious  and  queenly  !     O'er  her  brow 
A  crown  of  glittering  grains  was  placed,  set  here 
And  there  with  dark  and  shining  cones, 
Like  the  jet-beaded  blackberry.     Her  hair 


I34  POEMS. 

Of  richest  brown,  a  clustered  grape-vine  wreathed, 

Twining  and  looping  up  the  large,  soft  curls, 

With  its  own  purple  beauty ;  and  her  cheek, 

Brunette  and  bright  with  color,  throbbed  with  veins 

Like  those  which  streak  the  peach's  downy  face. 

Her  deeper-tinted  lips  were  like  some  fruit, 

Opened  from  over-ripeness  ;  and  a  smile, 

A  melancholy  smile,  played  round  their  curves ; 

And  her  large  eye,  with  purple  blackness  soft, 

Was  colored  like  the  dahlia's  velvet  heart 

That  bloomed  upon  her  breast.      Their  dreamy  gaze 

Seemed  far-off  fixed,  as  though  they  tried  to  read 

Some  volume  of  the  Future.     Now  and  then 

A  troubled  light  flashed  through  their  mellow  depths, 

And  cast  a  swift  and  flickering  gleam  across 

Her  olive-tinted  brow,  while  her  proud  frame 

Would  shiver  as  with  fear,  and  her  fine  mouth 

Tremble,  and  work  with  smiles  so  sweetly  sad, 

It  thrilled  me,  for  they  seemed  so  out  of  place. 

Her  gorgeous  robe  fell  from  her  faultless  throat 

Down  to  her  silver-sandalled  feet,  and  trailed 

In  heavy  folds  upon  the  carpet  gay, 

That  Zephyrus  was  spreading  ;  while  he  sighed, 

With  every  leaf  his  balmy  fingers  placed, 

Her  name  in  softest  breath,  and  she  would  yield 

Her  sad  and  painful  smile  with  such  a  grace, 

So  passively,  it  made  him  sigh  the  more. 

I  gazed  in  admiration  as  she  came  : 
Breathless  with  awe  and  reverence  I  stood, 
And  worshipped  silently.     Yet  when  I  heard 


POEMS.  135 

The  rustling  that  her  trailing  garments  made 
Still  nearer  come,  I  knelt  and  pressed  my  brow 
Upon  the  damp  leaves  at  her  shining  feet, 
In  humble  adoration.     Then  she  laid 
Her  fingers  on  me,  and  my  being  thrilled 
Till  every  nerve  became  electric  wire 
At  her  light  touch ;  so  that  I  wondered  not 
The  fragile  leaves  should  tremble,  blush,  and  shake, 
As  she  brushed  by  them.     Slow  she  raised  me  up, 
And  with  those  changing,  deep,  magnetic  eyes, 
Looked  through  my  heart.     Then  quickly  she  un 
clasped 

The  robe  that  hid  her  beauty,  and  I  saw 
The  pearl-like  lustre  of  her  virgin  breast : 
A  heaving  wave  of  trembling  loveliness 
It  rose  and  fell. 

"  Here  is  a  gift,"  she  said  : 
"  I  Ve  worn  it  next  my  heart ;  a  little  plant 
That  I  have  named  '  Reflection.'     Life  with  thee 
Has  hardly  put  its  summer  brightness  on, 
And  thou  wilt  find  it  is  not  yet  too  late 
To  cultivate  this  germ.     Tend  it  with  care, 
So  when  thy  autumn  comes,  the  choicest  fruit 
Will  all  the  past  repay  : "     Her  quiet  tones 
Were  ended  with  a  sigh,  and  something  like 
A  kiss  fell  melting  on  my  cheek,  and  left 
A  sense  of  painful  pleasure.     Then  she  placed 
The  tender,  rare  exotic  on  my  heart, 
And  with  a  sudden  wildness  in  her  mien 
She  hurried  on. 


I36  POEMS. 

An  hour  ago,  I  thought 
I  heard  unusual  meanings  in  the  wind, 
And  the  tall  pines,  smitten  and  bent  with  grief, 
Were  sobbing  loud  :  so  from  the  casement  panes 
I  watched,  with  anxious,  scrutinizing  glance, 
For  this  new  cause  of  mourning.     And  behold  ! 
This  strange  and  queenly  Autumn  that  I  saw, 
Went  shrieking  past,  her  fine  hair  blown  about 
Her  wasted  face,  her  dark  eyes  fierce  and  bright 
With  maniac  wildness,  and  her  meagre  form 
Half-clad  in  tattered  remnants  of  her  robe. 
Her  naked  feet  struck  on  the  flinty  road, 
Yet  still  she  fled,  with  thin,  consumptive  form, 
Raising  her  withered  fingers  now  and  then, 
Cassandra-like,  and  pointing  far  away, 
Shrieked  insane  prophecies.     No  soul  was  left 
Of  all  her  court  and  gay-apparelled  train: 
Not  even  sighing  Zephyrus  was  there 
To  calm  her  insane  vagaries.     I  wept 
A  tear  upon  the  treasured  germ  she  gave, 
The  while  my  eye  pursued  her  flying  form  ; 
And  just  as  distance  took  her  from  my  gaze, 
I  saw  that  Aquilo  was  close  behind, 
With  icy  fetters,  manacles,  and  chains. 
Poor,  crazy,  dying  Autumn  !  let  us  make 
A  dirge  for  her. 


POEMS.  137 


WINTER. 

fE  will  be  merry !  for  the  ice-king  smiles, 
Upon  his  glittering  crystal  throne  to-day ; 
His  features  grim,  their  angry  frown  relax, 
And  o'er  his  face,  grown  radiantly  bright, 
Tears  of  convulsive  laughter  'gin  to  flow. 
The  rosy  children,  muffled  to  the  eyes, 
Mittened  and  clothed  in  garments  close  and  warm, 
Grown  heated  in  their  play,  doff  hats  and  caps, 
And  dauntless  of  the  tearful  monarch's  crown, 
Toss  round  the  feathery  trimming  of  his  robe, 
And  in  his  ermine  roll.     The  prancing  steed, 
With  the  sweet  mingling  music  of  the  bells 
Around  his  arching  neck,  shoots  gaily  past 
The  door,  while  from  the  frozen  lake  comes  up 
The  shout  of  youths,  and  the  quick  rippling  laugh 
Of  maidens,  joining  in  the  skater's  chase  ; 
Diana's  fleeing  from  their  dreaded  Pan  ; 
For  when  the  nymph  is  gained,  I  only  hear 
The  reed-like  music  of  her  merriment. 

We  were  not  thus  demonstrative  in  joy, 
When  from  his  ice-pearled  chamber  in  the  North, 
Stern  Winter  came  to  rule.     With  milk-white  steeds, 
Whose  breath  was  fierce  and  cold  as  Death's  own 

hand, 

With  snowy  chariot  and  fleecy  robes, 
He  bore  straight  down  upon  us. 


138  POEMS. 

The  gaunt  trees 

Flung  down  their  last  sere  leaflets  to  appease 
The  sovereign,  except  the  evergreens, 
Fearless  and  proud,  they  would  not  yield  a  twig; 
And  he  their  haughtiness  so  much  admired, 
He  dropped  them  each  a  crown,  spotless  and  pure 
One  tiny  bird,  that  lingered  long  and  last 
About  its  native  grove,  fell  sudden  down, 
And  perished  both  of  sorrow  and  of  fear. 

Why,  he  was  fierce  about  his  sisters  three, 

So  evanescent,  beautiful,  and  frail ! 

Why  should  a  bird  sing  on  a  garden  spray, 

A  stream  still  babble  to  the  whispering  wind, 

Or  e'en  a  leaf  dance  on  the  fickle  breeze, 

Since  Autumn  passed  so  fearfully  away : 

And  so  he  sternly  reached  his  arm,  and  touch   * 

The  winding  arteries  that  carried  life 

Through  Nature's  form,  and  lo  3  beneath  his  hand 

They  turned  to  ice  ;  then  calmly  he  arrayed 

The  dead  earth  in  her  shroud,  without  a  shade 

Of  feeling  on  his  wild  and  haggard  brow. 

No  fawning  courtier  waited  at  his  side, 
Earnest  to  learn  his  pleasure  and  desire; 
And  only  toreas  with  iron  wing, 
And  roaring  voice,  as  armor  bearer  came, 
And  scle  companion.     If  v.e  ventured  out, 
To  meet  wiih  quiet  v-rebuusive  gaze, 
Our  tyrant  lord,  his  hoarse  attendant  pierce 
And  stabbed  us  with  his  dagger,  till  we  ikd 


POEMS.  139 

In  chilly  terror  to  our  hearths  again  ; 

And  even  then,  he  flapped  his  rattling  wing 

Against  the  panes,  and  at  the  loose  door  shrieked 

With  maniac  fury.     Ah!  the  wretched  poor; 

Weary  and  weak,  they  could  not  (lee  away 

From  their  pursuer;  so  with  patient  face, 

While  Winter  shook  them  with  unflinching  grasp, 

They  raised  their  pleading  eyes,  and  prayed  for  life. 

Ere  long,  we  learned  the  eccentricities 
Of  him,  oar  seemingly  relentless  king  ; 
For  soon,  arrayed  in  furs  and  ample  robes 
As  safe-guard  frora  the  thrusts  of  Boreas, 
We  laughed  at  all  his  threatening  menaces, 
And  shouted  back  defiance.     Now  beside 
The  glowing  fire,  when  early  eve  comes  on, 
\Ve  smile  to  hear  the  rattling  at  the  pane, 
The  sh.  ieking  at  the  crevices  and  doors, 
And  quite  unmindful  of  the  roar  without, 
Pass  round  the  loaded  bowl  of  ruddy  fruit, 
The  glass  acceptable  of  orchard  wine, 
And  drink  to  Winter's  health. 

The  Old  Year's  death, 
That  left  him  of  his  generation  List, 
Or  the  mild  influence  of  the  infant  Year, 
Perchance  has  soothed  his  rijor;  for  of  late, 
When  the  blue  sky  Ijoks  do\vn  with  genial 
I  've  seen  the  tear  of  feeling  trickle  down 
His  bristly  beard.     I  really  do  believe 
That  Winter  has  a  heart,  yet  I  mistrust 


I4o  POEMS. 

T  is  broken  :  and  his  humor,  smiles  and  tears, 
His  changeful  rule,  first  frigid,  and  then  mild, 
Convinces  me  beyond  a  shade  of  doubt, 
He  's  in  his  second  childhood. 


POEMS.  143 


of 


i  86  i. 


Poet,  write ! 

nJvOT  of  a  purpose  dark  and  dire, 
Jv  That  souls  of  evil  fashion, 
*j    Nor  the  power  that  nerves  the  assassin's  hand, 
In  the  white  heat  of  his  passion  : 

But  let  thy  rhyme, 

Through  every  clime, 
A  burthen  bear  of  this  one  crime  : 
Let  the  world  draw  in  a  shuddering  breath, 
Or  the  crime  that  aims  at  a  nation's  death  1 

Minstrel,  sing ! 
Not  in  affection's  dulcet  tone, 
Or  with  sound  of  a  soft  recorder : 
Strike  not  thy  harp  to  a  strain  arranged 
In  measured,  harmonic  order  ; 

But  loud  and  strong 

The  notes  prolong, 
That  thunder  of  a  Ration's  wrong  \ 
Let  a  sound  of  war  in  thy  notes  appear, 
Till  the  world  opes  wide  a  startled  ear  1 


144  POEMS. 

Soldier,  fight ! 

Thou  hast  a  patriot's  throbbing  pulse, 
And  future  history's  pages, 
Shall  tell  of  the  blood  so  freely  shed 
To  redeem  "  the  crime  of  the  ages." 
Well  may'st  thou  fight 
For  Truth  and  Right, 
And  teach  a  rebel  foe  thy  might ! 
Let  a  loyal  heart,  and  undaunted  will, 
Show  the  world  we  are  a  Nation  still ! 

Prophet,  speak ! 

Speak  for  the  children  of  martyred  sires, 
An  offspring  the  most  ungrateful  I 
Warn  them  of  Justice  hurrying  on, 
To  punish  a  deed  so  hateful ! 

O  read  with  thy 

Prophetic  eye, 

The  omens  of  our  troubled  sky  ! 
What  is  the  picture  beyond  the  gloom  ? 
New  life,  new  birth,  or  a  Nation's  tomb  ? 


POEMS.  145 


lit    Pinion 

1861. 


jjFO  //z<7/  man  I  '11  give  homage.     Kingly  brows, 
J  J    Heavy  with  gem  and  pearl  of  royalty, 
j    I  might  not  bow  before.     Only  to  this 
Broad  forehead, — battle  scarred, — my  soul  goes  down 
In  reverence.     I  have  sat  and  breathed  the  air 
Of  these  high  hills,  and  loved  the  lily  sweets 
That  made  the  vale  and  meadow  breezes  rich, 
While  he  grew  weary  in  the  sultry  march, 
Or  faint  and  dizzy  in  the  crimson  heat 
Of  battle  ;  yet  so  proud  of  suffering, 
So  generous  of  blood  wherewith  to  gain 
A  Nation's  peace,  a  Union,  and  a  home. 
So  will  I  pay  the  honor  that  is  due 
To  champions  of  loyalty. 

The  hand 

Gemmed  with  the  ruby  and  the  diamond  star, 
With  gracefulness  and  beauty  that  attests 
Nobility,  I  never  longed  to  clasp  : 
But  let  me  reach  and  warmly  grasp  the  hand 
That  bears  the  musket ;  fingers  hard  and  strong 
In  warrior  service,  pressing  bayonets 
Against  a  rebel  foe !     In  such  our  strength, 
In  such  our  surest  hope. 


146  POEMS. 

The  voice  that  joins 
In  dulcet  melody,  or  learns  to  speak 
In  courtly  tones,  can  never  be  so  dear 
As  that  whose  proud  command,  in  danger's  hour. 
Has  gained  us  victory ;  a  voice  attuned 
To  the  retorting  guns  ;  a  sound  of  strength 
To  friends,  and  dread  to  foes.     So  do  I  prize 
An  accent  or  a  word  from  patriot  tongues. 

I  would  not  deign  to  touch  the  jewelled  shoe 
That  men  fall  down  before,  and  daily  kiss 
In  seeming  reverence  ;  but  I  'd  joy  to  wash 
The  valley  dust  from  off  those  aching  feet 
That  follow  where  our  starry  pennon  leads  ; 
And  if  I  had  a  kiss  all  men  would  prize, 
The  choicest,  the  sincerest,  and  as  pure 
As  that  I  give  the  babe  upon  my  arm, 
It  should  be  thine,  O  soldier  true  and  brave  I  — 
That  kiss  of  soul-felt  gratefulness. 


i862. 

for  our  New  England  ! 
4H  When  she  rose  up  firm  and  grand, 
V  In  her  c^lm,  terrific  beauty, 
With  the  stout  sword  in  her  hand  ! 


POEMS.  147 

When  she  raised  her  arm  undaunted, 
In  the  sacred  cause  of  Right, 
Like  a  crowned  queen  of  Valor, 
Strong  in  her  faith  and  might! 

Hurrah  for  our  New  England  ! 
When  the  war-cry  shook  the  breeze, 
She  wore  the  garb  of  glory, 
And  quaffed  the  cup  of  ease : 
But  I  saw  a  daring  look  on  her 
Heroic  features  rise, 
And  the  fire  of  will  was  flashing, 
Through  the  calm  light  of  her  eyes. 

From  her  brow  serene,  majestic, 
The  sweet  wreath  of  Peace  she  took, 
And  War's  Red  Rose  sprang  blooming, 
And  its  bloody  petals  shook, 
On  her  heaving,  beating  bosom, 
And  with  forehead  crowned  with  light, 
Transfigured,  she  presented, 
Her  proud  form  for  the  fight. 

Hurrah  for  our  New  England  ! 

What  a  lightning  courage  ran, 

Through  her  brave  heart,  as  she  bounded 

To  the  battle's  fearful  van  ! 

O'er  her  head  the  starry  banner, 

While  her  loud,  inspiring  cry, 

"  Death  or  Freedom  to  our  Nation  " 

Rang  against  the  cloudy  sky. 


X48  POEMS. 

I  saw  our  own  New  England, 
Dealing  blows  for  Truth  and  Right, 
And  the  grandeur  of  her  purpose, 
Gave  her  eye  a  sacred  light : 
Oh,  name  her  the  "  Invincible," 
Through  rebel  rank  and  host ! 
For  Justice  evermore  is  done, 
And  Right  comes  uppermost. 

Hurrah  for  our  New  England  ! 
Through  the  battle's  fearful  brunt, 
Through  the  Red  Sea  of  the  carnage, 
Still  she  struggles  in  the  front : 
And  Victory's  war  eagle, 
Hovering  o'er  the  fiery  blast, 
On  her  floating,  starry  standard, 
Will  settle  down  at  last. 

There  is  glory  for  New  England, 
When  Oppression's  strife  is  done, 
When  the  friends  of  Wrong  are  vanquished, 
And  the  cause  of  Freedom  won  : 
She  shall  sit  in  garments  spotless, 
And  shall  breathe  the  odorous  balm, 
}f  the  cool  green  of  Contentment, 
a  the  bowers  of  Peace  and  Calm. 


POEMS. 


149 


1863. 

Vj  AISE  a  shout,  O  firm-hearted  New  England, 

4 1     While  struggling  at  Freedom's  behest  1 

j       Lift  a  clarion  cry  for  her  triumph,  — 

Our  Amazon  sister,  —  the  West ! 

For  the  world  of  Humanity  's  clapping 

Iti  hands,  at  the  glorious  sight 

Of  the  giantess  marching  to  conquest, 

And  lending  her  strength  for  the  Right, 

We  had  noted  her  beauty  majestic, 

Believing  her  born  to  command  ; 

There  was  guerdon  and  crown  in  the  future, 

Awaiting  the  strength  of  her  hand  ! 

1  F  was  grand  when  she  rose  up  colossal  1 

Eat  nobler  and  grander  than  all, 

Was  the  sight  of  her  soul,  keen  and  ready, 

Oat-flashing  at  Liberty's  call. 

Not  in  vain  the  rude  lifj  of  the  prairies! 
Such  roughness  gavo  power  to  her  arm, 
And  nourished  her  strength -for  a  struggle, 
To  vanquish  the  demons  of  harm. 


I5o  POEMS. 

How  her  great  beating  heart  shook  her  bosom, 
When  battle-cries  rang  on  the  air ! 
And  she  held  back  her  breath  like  a  creature, 
That  crouches  and  bounds  from  its  lair  I 

Then  glancing  at  lake,  and  soft  verdure, 
And  streams  rolling  down  to  the  seas, 
Her  brow's  blooming  wreath  of  Contentment, 
She  flung  with  disdain  to  the  breeze  : 
And  shouted,  "  God  spread  my  wide  prairies, 
For  Liberty's  home  —  not  her  grave  ; 
And  I  '11  gather  a  harvest  of  slaughter, 
Ere  I  feed  on  the  toil  of  a  slave  !  " 

Then  her  eye  caught  the  fire  and  the  glory 

That  burned  in  the  spirits  of  old  : 

And  changed  were  her  light  native  ballads, 

To  measures  heroic  and  bold  : 

And  we  knew  the  true  blood  of  her  fathers 

Warmed  all  her  young  veins  in  its  flow, 

As  she  lifted  her  head  for  the  conflict, 

And  steadily  marched  on  the  foe. 

And  when  near  the  stronghold  of  traitors, 

She  sprang,  with  her  fingers  to  clasp 

The  old  wrinkled  throat  of  Oppression, 

With  pioneer  strength  in  the  grasp, 

How  she  held  her  strong  grip  till  he  faltered, 

And  gasping,  fell  down  on  the  plain  ! 

XVhile  the  locks  on  his  brow,  thin  and  grizzly, 

Were  wet  in  the  red  carnage  rain. 


POEMS. 


15* 


And  we  saw  her  proud  form  standing  dauntless : 

Her  own  purple  blood  dripping  down, 

As  she  clutched  through  the  mist  of  the  battle, 

At  Tyranny's  iron- wrought  crown  ; 

And  lo !   as  she  stands  yet  unflinching, 

Still  giving  her  young  life  and  power, 

Her  brow  sprouts  a  green  springing  laurel, 

The  future  shall  bring  into  flower. 

Then  shout  for  her  triumph,  New  England  I 

Our  Amazon  sister,  — the  West ; 

Lift  up  the  clear  voice  like  a  trumpet, 

In  praise  of  her  valor  and  zest ! 

Let  a  song  of  thanksgiving  go  upward, 

And  ring  on  the  throne  overhead  ! 

For  she  stands  with  her  banner  uplifted, 

Her  heel  upon  Tyranny's  head. 


152  POEMS. 


1864. 


"  A  rebel  ball  crashed  through  a  large  house,  entering  the 
corner  of  the  roof,  and  through  the  aperture  was  run  up  the 
Union  Flag." 

frHE  man  who  fired  that  traitorous  charge, 
Purposed  to  feed  a  grave  ; 
But  only  made  destructive  rent, 
Where  Freedom's  pennon,  star  besprent, 
More  gloriously  should  wave. 

Oppression  clutched  at  Liberty, 
And  thought  to  stop  her  breath  : 
He  fixed  his  fingers  in  her  throat : 
It  was  a  thought  o'er  which  to^gloat 
A  Nation  choked  to  death  1 

But  lo  I     God  works  a  miracle  I 
Oppression  yields  the  ghost ! 
Our  Country  brightens  from  her  night ! 
The  blood  wrung  out,  shall  wash  her  white, 
As  Heaven's  immortal  host 


POEMS.  153 

O  rebels  !  in  our  noble  dead, 

Ye  give  us  precious  dower  ! 

Their  graves  undying  life  shall  breed  : 

Sprouted  in  blood,  the  buried  seed 

Shall  yield  the  richest  flower. 

We  will  not  call  these  valleys  where 

Our  dead  boys  lie  concealed, — 

The  battle-hill,  and  river  shore  — 

"  Our  graveyards !  "   They  are  something  more  1 

They  're  one  grand  harvest  field  ! 

For  every  one  of  Freedom's  sons, 
Who  sleep  with  death-closed  eyes, 
For  every  mound  that  hides  a  face 
Scarred  for  our  Country,  —  in  its  place, 
Ten  patriot  men  shall  rise  ! 


For  every  arm  now  stark  and  stiff, 
That  fell  in  final  pause, 
Stabbing  for  Justice  and  for  Truth, 
And  battling  with  the  zeal  of  youth,  — 
Ten  more  shall  aid  the  cause. 

And  over  every  hideous  rent, 
Where  cannon  balls  crashed  through, 
Shall  float  the  white  and  crimson  bars, 
The  pennon  with  its  undimmed  stars, 
In  their  loved  field  of  blue. 


154  POEMS. 

O  matchless  priests  of  Liberty, 
Ordained  her  fires  to  keep  ! 
Let  not  the  lights  burn  faint  nor  low 
Within  her  fane  :  but  tower,  and  glow, 
And  flash  with  lightning  leap  ! 

O  Countrymen  with  royal  souls  ! 

Let  heart  and  nerve  be  strong  ! 

Till  right  shall  reign  from  North  to  South, 

And  lay  her  hand  upon  the  mouth 

Of  every  gun  of  Wrong. 


5iF  Vt 

m  Hi?  jUft!iftfl$  orcr  ih 

fllH 
3  1| 
JJ    " 


e 

1864. 


"HAT  is  the  cause  of  the  strife?"  thought  the 
nations  over  the  sea  ; 

The  North  and  the  South  are  children,  that 

quarrel  over  their  tea  ; 
The  South  with  her  fiery  spirit,  is  only  getting  the 

crosser, 
At  hearing  the  North  protest  that  the  cup  belongs 

with  the  saucer." 

"  \Vhat  is  the  cause  of  the  strife  ?  "  thought  the  na 

tions  over  the  sea  ; 
"  They  war  in  a  lack  of  wisdom,  not  agreeing  to  dis 

agree  : 


POEMS. 


155 


Always  at  antipodes,  after  years  of  picking  and  hunt 
ing, 

They  go  to  battle  at  last,  over  a  simple  piece  of 
bunting. 

"Or  some  other  trivial  thing's  at  the  bottom  of  this 
parade, 

This  glitter  and  glance  of  steel,  and  the  roaring  of 
cannonade  ; 

Perhaps  'tis  a  Southern  pen,  that  across  the  one 
word  '  Union ' 

Indites  a  political  creed  abrogating  close  commun 
ion. 

"  Or  rather,  a  feud  arising  from  vaunts  of  the  civic 
mouth  ; 

The  '  shovelry  '  of  the  North  'gainst  the  *  chivalry ' 
of  the  South  : 

Or  a  schism  that  starts  its  line  from  municipal  insti 
tution  ; 

Or  different  interpretations  of  the  letter  of  Constitu 
tion." 

"  If  these  are  the  points  of  strife,"  said  the  nations 

over  the  sea, 
"  We  have  a  lot  in  the  matter  —  for  elder  children  are 

we : 
The  duty  becomes  incumbent,  to  shorten  the  long 

contention  : 
Our  part  assigned  in  the  drama  is  the  business  of 

intervention." 


156  POEMS. 

Have  you  guessed  the  cause  of  the  strife,  sister  na 
tions  over  the  sea  ? 

Have  you  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jehovah,  and  His 
lightning  written  decree 

Glaring  clear  in  the  cloudy  dun,  —  from  the  battle- 
smoke  out-flashing? 

Have  you  heard  the  voice  of  the  Judge  over  all  the 
cannon's  crashing  ? 

We  're  fighting  to  make  them  real  —  mock-excellen^ 
cies  of  the  past : 

Heart-sick  of  hypocrisy's  badge,  we  are  goaded  to 
battle  at  last : 

Here 's  one  of  our  virtuous  tokens  —  our  starred  tri 
color  ;  we  take  it, 

And  rather  than  live  as  it  was,  we  will  die  for  what 
we  can  make  it. 

In  the  easy  days  and  the  peaceful,  could  we  wave 
that  flag  in  the  face 

Of  a  single  nation  on  earth,  without  feeling  a  pang 
of  disgrace  ? 

Oh  give  us  the  pain  and  the  loss,  and  the  carnage 
that  convulses, 

With  sincerity  at  the  core,  throbbing  deep  in  North 
ern  pulses  1 

Whatever  the  monarchies  write,  of  the  strife's  incipi 
ent  stage, 

Of  the  tinder  that  struck  the  fire  of  our  soul's  sub- 
limest  rage ; 


POEMS. 


157 


Whatever  the   cavilings   are  of  our   elders  or  our 

betters, 
The  arm  of  the  North  was  nerved  by  the  clanking  of 

Southern  fetters. 

Our  bickerings  for  a  trifle,  the  world  may  over 
state  ; 

Our  patriot  love  at  the  centre,  may  suffer  under 
rate  : 

Not  patriotism  cheap,  that  stops  with  one's  own  na 
tion, 

But  patriotism  grand,  that  sphere's  a  world's  salva 
tion. 

Is  it  the  peoples'  doubt,  —  an  idea  too  grand  for  the 
hour, 

That  our  Northern  sons  are  heroes  for  principle,  not 
for  power  ? 

Was  the  thought  too  large  for  a  man,  or  even  too 
great  for  a  nation, 

To  flash  out  sabre  and  gun  in  the  cause  of  emanci 
pation  ? 

Fremont  the    truest   and   quickest,  sprang  out  on 

Liberty's  track : 
And  Lincoln,  slow  but  firmly,  and   never  faltering 

back; 
And  his  tardy  hand  reached  forward,  —  dear  hand, 

—  to  relieve  the  lowly, 
And  we  love  his  lips  for  the  words,  that  seemed  to 

come  too  slowly. 


158  POEMS. 

Could  you  see  our  sable  brother  take  his  place  in 

the  battle's  van, 
Not  willing  to  live  as  a  chattel,  but  ready  to  die  as  a 

man  ; 
Could  you  see  our  Africa  bare  her  scarred  breast  to 

the  sword  and  rifle, 
Wouldn't  you  say,  at  the  root  of  the  matter  there 

was  something  more  than  a  trifle  ? 

Wouldn't  you  say  that  the  federal  blood  mirrored 
Jesus  in  every  drop, 

When  it  rose  in  a  throb  of  passion,  that  the  bond 
man's  woe  might  stop  ? 

Would  n't  you  say  that  the  federal  hand  touched  the 
nail-pierced  hand  of  another, 

When  it  dripped  its  generous  crimson  to  redeem  an 
outraged  brother  ? 

The  histories  coming  after,  will  not  reckon  the  price 
too  dear, 

When  this  crushed  and  weakened  sister  in  develop 
ment  shall  appear : 

When  Africa  —  Prima  Donna  —  moves  along  politi 
cal  stages, 

A  single  queen,  whose  glory  is  the  promise  of  future 
ages. 

In  the  noon  of  the  dawning  cycles,  when  the  sword 

shall  leave  the  sheath 
To  be  changed  to   a   pruning   hook,  —  when   God 

shall  braid  His  national  wreath,  — 


POEMS.  159 

America,  Europe,  Asia,  all  as  leaves  and  twigs,  must 

enter  : 
But  Africa  as  the  glorious  flower  whose  rich  bloom 

crowns  the  centre. 

Or  she  shall  sit  as  a  star,  with  a  light  that  is  all  her 

own, 
With  beam  magnetic  attracting  the  compass  of  State 

and  Throne  : 
While  every  kin,  descendant,  and  tribe  of  the  power 

that  bound  her, 
Each  at  a  limit  respectful,  in  awe  shall  circle  'round 

her. 

And  she,  the  bruised  and  the  smitten,  borne  down 

with  fetter  and  thong, 
She  shall  be  the  Corypheus  leading  on  the  world's 

grand  song : 
And  the  nations  shall  wait  dumbly,  their  separate 

voices  hushing, 
To  hear  Earth's  new  soprano  in  a  river  of  music 

gushing. 

Have  we  nothing  noble  to  die  for,  ye  nations  over 

the  sea  ? 
Will  ye  call  it  inglorious  venture  when  Africa  shall 

be  free  ? 
Ah,  no!  ye  will  give  us  place  evergreen  in  heroic 

story, 
And  strain  to  attain  the  summit  of  a  like  unselfish 

glory. 


160  POEMS. 


1854. 

fHOUT  for  a  nation  renewed, 
That  moults  the  old  garment  that  bound  her, 
That  rises  with  evil  eschewed, 
With  the  gold  of  God's  morning  around  her  1 
Shout  that  she  caught  enough  light 
Through  the  chinks  in  political  cells, 
To  vitalize  will  into  might ! 
That  she  heard  the  Eternity  bells 
Freedom-tongued  !  that  she  leaped  with  a  shiver 
Of  joy,  for  this  gift  of  the  Giver,  — 
A  chance  fpr  a  nobler  existence ! 
That  her  passiveness  turned  to  resistance  1 
That  bursting  all  dwarfish  dimension, 
She  moves  in  untrammelled  extension, 
With  purpose  of  Justice  imbued  ! 
Shout  for  a  nation  renewed  ! 

Shout  that  a  creature  of  God, 
Long  known  as  our  national  ban, 
And  reckoned  a  thing  or  a  beast, 
Is  counted  and  titled  a  man  ! 
That  he  fronts  with  unfaltering  step, 
The  enemy's  brass-throated  guns, 
With  a  courage  as  high  and  serene, 


POEMS.  161 

As  any  of  Liberty's  sons  ! 

That  he  moves  not  at  Tyranny's  nod, 

A  subject  of  fetter  and  rod, 

Shout  for  this  creature  of  God  1 

Shout  for  the  States  coming  back  ! 
Grasp  the  warm  hand  of  communion  1 
Draw  them  so  near  it  will  seem, 
One  heart  only  throbs  in  the  Union  ! 
Let  not  our  faces  be  altered, 
Because  for  a  time  they  have  faltered  1 
Or  let  us  but  brighten  the  more, 
That  feet  turning  from  us  before,  — 
Dear  feet  —  sound  again  at  the  door ! 
For  we  must  be  one  !     E'en  the  winds, 
With  icicle  dagger  and  snows, 
Throw  them  off  with  a  smile  to  slip  down, 
And  play  with  the  sweet  Southern  rose ; 
Our  summer  clouds,  darkened  with  tears, 
O'er  gray  crag  and  mountain-top  clamber, 
And  flash  with  joy's  impulse  at  sight 
Of  the  beautiful  Southern  sky-amber ; 
New  stars  are  in  Liberty's  track ! 
Shout  for  the  States  coming  back ! 

Shout  for  a  banner  symbolic 
Of  all  that  is  great  in  Humanity  I 
Vestment  no  longer  for  draping, 
The  lie  of  our  past  Christianity  I 
Red  for  the  hearts  of  our  braves  \ 
White  for  the  soul  of  a  nation, 


162  POEMS. 

Cleansed  into  fitness  at  last, 
For  holiest  deed  and  oblation  ; 
Blue  for  the  people's  new  heaven, 
Into  which  purity  frees  us, 
Lighted  with  Bethlehem  stars, 
As  guides  evermore  unto  Jesus ; 
Emblem  of  truth  apostolic  ! 
Shout  for  this  banner  symbolic  I 

Shout !  or  dumb  Nature  will  speak, 
And  mountains  be  seized  with  a  spasm  1 
Shout !  or  a  thunder  of  joy, 
Will  belch  from  the  cavern  and  chasm  1 
Shout !  or  the  old  sea  will  rise, 
Heaven-high  in  an  ecstatic  madness, 
And  bones  of  the  patriots  stir 
To  give  an  expression  to  gladness ! 
Or  portraits  that  hang  in  the  hall, 
Will  start  in  procession  and  file, 
And  pictured  saints  fixed  on  the  wall, 
Will  move  their  pure  lips  into  smile  I 
Shout !  for  the  Earth  looks  alive, 
Like  a  joy-flush  that  burns  on  a  cheek, 
When  Love's  swooning  pulses  revive  1 
Through  its  etherial  prism, 
Glory  drops  down  as  a  chrism, 
On  baldness  of  boulder  and  peak  1 
Shout,  or  dumb  Nature  will  speak  I 


POEMS. 


fHE  sat  at  the  feet  of  her  mother, 
Sat  with  a  dreamy  air, 
And  her  delicate  hand  played  listlessly 
With  a  lock  of  her  glossy  hair. 

Her  cheek's  sweet  pink  was  slumbering 

Under  a  veil  of  snows  ; 
But  up  through  the  wonderful  whiteness, 

Came  suddenly  out  a  rose. 

And  a  burning  ray  shot  into 

The  depths  of  either  eye, 
As  a  sunbeam  vexed  with  cloud 

Leaps  at  last  into  open  sky. 

And  her  budded  red  mouth  trembled, 

Till  the  dimples  came  to  see 
What  honey  thoughts  in  the  central  cell 

Of  her  spirit  there  could  be. 

And  the  beautiful  still  disturbance 
The  mother's  glance  had  caught : 

"  Arabel-daughter  —  give  me 
The  words  of  your  present  thought  t 


164  POEMS. 

"  But  the  thought  has  mirrored  itself, 
And  your  voice  I  hardly  need : 

For  I  know  the  interpretations  : 
They  are  easy  signs  to  read. 

"  In  the  restless  tint  of  the  cheek, 
In  the  glowing  eyes  above, 

In  the  red  lip's  nervous  tremble, 
I  can  trace  the  work  of  Love. 


"  Far  back  as  I  can  remember, 

The  god  betrayed  his  will 
In  the  self-same  way  ;  and  red  and  white 

Are  Cupid's  colors  still. 

"  But  an  anxious  thought  creeps  blindly 

In  my  heart,  and  cannot  rest ; 
For  the  soul  of  a  mother  longs  to  know 

Who  her  daughter  loves  the  best. 

"  Is  it  he  with  the  hurried  footstep, 

Who  at  twilight  comes  to  call, 
And  drops  his  high  imperiousness 

Like  a  cloak  in  the  outer  hall  ? 

"  The  glossy  badge  of  his  manhood's  prime 
Waves  darkly  adown  his  breast ; 

And  he  kisses  your  hand  in  a  reverent  way, 
More  tender  than  all  the  rest 


POEMS.  i6< 

"With  a  knowledge  judicial,  wide,  profound, 

He  sits  in  a  judges'  chair  ; 
And  the  world  has  ever  a  garment  of  praise 

For  such  wise  men  to  wear. 

"  Or  perhaps  't  is  the  merchant  who  sent  a  gift 
On  your  birth-day  ;  a  pearl-set  ring  ; 

And  he  takes  back  the  cost  every  Saturday  eve 
In  the  ballads  you  play  and  sing. 

"  And  his  tongue,  like  a  word-threaded  shuttle, 
Weaves  nothing  but  praise  to  please  : 

And  he  looks  in  your  face,  till  your  fingers  miss 
And  tremble  along  the  keys. 

"  His  wares  and  his  heaped-up  merchandise 

Shut  out  the  light  of  the  sun  ; 
He  can  buy  the  smile  of  the  people,  — 

Is  it  Love's  smile  he  has  won  ? 

tf  It  may  be  the  man  just  over  the  way 

You  have  chosen  ;  the  millionaire  ; 
When  you  think  of  his  gold  you  can  surely  forget 

The  silver  that 's  in  his  hair. 

"What  is  it  that  draws  and  knits  your  brow 

Whenever  you  hear  the  creak 
Of  his  shining  boots  in  the  passage  ? 

What  is  it  that  fires  your  cheek  ?  " 


i66  POEMS. 

Then  Arabel  cleared  her  forehead 
From  the  faintest  shade  of  a  frown : 

On  a  crimson  rose  in  the  carpet, 
The  light  of  her  eyes  fell  down. 

And  the  smile  swooned  off  about  her  lips, 
As  she  answered  with  timid  voice  ; 

"  My  mother  will  wonder  ;  condemn  perhaps  ; 
And  never  approve  my  choice. 

"  The  royal  one  that  my  soul  enthrones, 

A  king  by  Love's  own  crown, 
No  title  of  honor  has  stretched  his  name, 

He  wears  no  ermined  gown. 

"  The  badge  of  his  promising  manhood, 

Is  neither  on  lip  nor  chin  ; 
But  it  flashes  out  at  his  glorious  eyes 

From  its  sacred  place  within. 

"  He  has  no  wealth  heaped  up  in  the  square, 

Or  waiting  at  wharf  or  strand : 
The  coin  in  his  slender  purse  is  earned 

By  a  hard  and  sunburnt  hand. 

"  With  that  man's  purse  just  over  the  way, 

His  own  is  a  mean  compare  ; 
But  counting  his  virtues  in  lieu  of  gold, 

He,  too,  is  a  millionaire. 


POEMS.  167 

"  Had  he  lingered  in  these  still  valleys, 

He  would  not  have  given  a  kiss,    • 
Or,  ever  have  ventured  a  word  of  love 

From  last  year's  spring  till  this. 

"  But  walking,  a  year  ago  to-day, 

In  the  country,  under  the  shade, 
Where  the  locust  trees  as  sentinels  stood 

Along  the  cool  arcade, 

• 

"  I  heard  the  hoofs  of  his  goodly  steed, 

Come  galloping  down  the  lane, 
And  suddenly  pause  beside  me, 

As  the  rider  drew  the  rein. 

"  And  he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  raised  his  cap 
From  his  brow,  and  his  white  lips  broke 

Apart  with  a  word  of  tenderness, 
He  never  before  had  spoke. 

"  '  Sweet,  I  am  going  !     Tyranny's  cloud 

Is  darkening  Liberty's  sun  ; 
And  only  by  arms  as  stout  as  mine, 

Is  Freedom's  victory  won. 

"  '  Your  country  is  perilled.     I  could  face 

The  enemy's  sun  and  spear, 
Better  than  your  pure  looks  beloved, 

With  the  shame  of  idling  here. 


168  POEMS. 

"  '  For  you  there  are  hands  brimfull  of  gold, 

And  hearts  of  affection  too  : 
But  my  hand  is  not  worthy  enough 

To  touch  your  dainty  shoe. 

"  '  Yet  it 's  just  the  hand,  with  its  roughened  palm, 

The  bond  of  the  slave  to  break  ; 
And  I  know  it  is  strong  to  battle  for  Right, 

Through  God  and  your  sweet  sake. 

- 

"  '  New  England  reared,  't  is  Liberty's  cause 

I  hold  all  claims  above ; 
Humanity's  weal  ranks  uppermost, 

And  duty  is  more  than  love.1 

"  I  looked  in  his  eyes  ;  and  their  luminous  depths 

The  fire  of  the  hero  caught. 
And  I  looked  till  I  saw  that  his  soul  was  clear 

From  the  trace  of  a  selfish  thought. 

"  My  mother  !  I  shook  with  reverence 

In  the  light  of  that  eye  and  brow, 
For  the  soul  that  I  thought  I  loved  before, 

I  knew  that  I  worshipped  now. 

"Then  his  white  lips  stole  the  purple  of  mine 

In  a  long  and  clinging  kiss  ; 
And  mine  have  moved  with  a  sweeter  smile 

From  that  day's  hour  till  this. 


POEMS.  i69~ 

"  Then  he  sprang  to  his  steed,  and  I  heard  the  sound 

Of  its  galloping  hoofs  again, 
And  he  waved  his  hand  as  he  passed  from  sight 

At  the  end  of  the  locust  lane. 

"  I  stood  in  a  dream,  and  felt  how  grand 

The  heart  of  a  youth  could  be, 
Whose  love  of  country  and  human  weal 

O'er-topped  his  love  for  me. 

"  My  whole  soul's  love,  my  mother, 

Forever  is  wed  to  the  brave, 
Who  would  purchase  a  slave-freed  country, 

Though  bought  with  blood  and  a  grave." 

Then  Arabel  ceased,  and  her  mother  laid 

A  hand  on  her  daughter's  hair, 
And  a  tide  of  thought  rose  up  within 

Till  it  bubbled  over  in  prayer. 

"  Heaven  give  American  mothers, 

A  treasure  as  great  as  mine  ! 
For  the  soul  of  a  patriot  daughter, 

I  bless  thee,  Father  divine  1 " 


170  POEMS. 


fAS  it  love  for  you,  my  brave,  — 
When  the  Autumn's  fire  and  gold 
Wrought  a  shroud  for  Summer's  grave, 
Love  that  made  me  shy  and  cold, 
Fearing  to  be  overbold  ? 

Was  it  love  that  made  me  weak, 

When  the  glory  of  your  eyes 
Brought  the  secret  to  my  cheek  ?  — 

Dumb  with  faintness  and  surprise, 

That  so  poor  was  my  disguise. 

Was  it  love  that  made  the  sound 
Of  your  step  a  joy  and  pain, 

Made  your  path  a  holy  ground, 

Made  your  voice  the  sweetest  strain 
Of  music,  short  of  Heaven's  refrain  ? 

Was  it  love  that  made  my  song, 
Tremble,  till  it  seemed  not  mine, 

When  the  day  had  faded  long, 
And  I  saw  your  white  brow  shine 
Through  shadows  like  a  thing  divine  ? 


POEMS.  171 


Was  it  love  ?     A  man  can  tell, 
Though  we  falter,  or  deny, 

When  a  woman  loves  him  well ; 
Feels  a  warm  light  glorify 
All  his  soul  when  she  is  nigh. 

Take  the  gift,  then,  that  you  ask  ; 
Patriot  heroes  may  displace 

Timid  Love's  sly,  shifting  mask  : 
Wearing  it  were  a  disgrace 
Looking  in  your  soldier  face. 


And  I  dare  to  call  you  "  mine," 
Since  you  tell  me  that  this  word 

Hidden  long  in  Love's  sweet  wine, 
Adds  new  valor  to  the  sword 
That  must  meet  a  rebel  horde. 

Now  I  tremble  not,  but  strong 
For  my  country,  tell  you  plain 

I  love  the  arm  that  battles  wrong, 
The  soul  that  faces  death  and  pain, 
To  cleanse  America  from  stain. 


Flash  a  doctrine  absolute 

From  your  Federal  sword  and  gun  ; 

Truth  a  world  cannot  refute  ;  — 

That  Justice,  Love,  and  God  are  one, 
Rolling  forward  Freedom's  sun. 


172  POEMS. 

In  this  labor  we  will  share  ; 

Take  my  love,  nor  longer  pause ; 

I  shall  wreathe  your  name  in  prayer, 
By  Affections  holy  laws, 
Round  the  dear  Republic's  cause. 


xi&trarti: 

y 

Lines  affectionately  inscribed  to  MARY  COOPER,  widow  of  COL. 
ALEXANDER  GARDINER,  of  the  i4th  N.  H.  Vols. 

d'HEY  said  'twas  a  triumph.    The  northern  breeze 
fll  waved 

j    A  burden  of  banners  at  Early's  defeat : 
'Twas  a  conquest  for  Liberty  :  I  too  had  saved 
One  glad  cry  to  lend  to  the  shouts  in  the  street, 
For  a  victory  complete. 

While  the  iron  tongues  up  in  the  steeple  will  hold 
No  longer  their  peace,  but  chime  on  with  the  rest 
In  each  federal  display,  't  is  my  portion  to  fold 
This  garment  of  widowhood  over  my  breast, 
In  which  I  am  drest. 

O,  happy-eyed  women,  with  hearts  yet  unriven, 
Sing,  while  you  can  say,  "  He 's  alive  yet  —  my  own ! " 


POEMS.  173 

But  my  eyes  gaze  straight  over  all  into  Heaven ; 
To  an  angel's  full  stature  my  hero  has  grown, 
And  I  stand  here  alone* 


O  heavenly  promotion  that  wrings  my  heart  so ! 
Resplendent  equipments  that  angels  provide ! 
Give  him  glory !  while  I  wander  yet  here  below, 
With  my  two  little  ones  to  lead  on  by  my  side, 
To  cherish  and  guide. 

And  toward  him,  —  our  saint  —  we  will  struggle  and 
climb, 

0  frail  little  daughter,  and  brave  little  son  ! 
The  cloud  o'er  my  path  has  a  shadow  sublime, 
For  the  hope  that  I  lost  when  my  life  was  undone, 

To  Freedom  is  won. 

And  so  for  America  I  'm  not  afraid. 
Such  blood  go  for  nothing  ?     Unholy  the  thought  I 
Too  precious  the  price  that 's  already  been  paid 
In  the  bargain  of  Justice,  to  falter  to  naught 
With  Freedom  unbought. 

1  sit  in  my  dark  ;  for  the  sparkle  and  glow 
Of  my  star,  went  to  purchase  a  land's  jubilee  ; 
Give  strength  for  my  cross,  God  and  Christ !  while 

I  know 

That  the  country  made  sacred  by  one  tomb  to  me, 
Shall  not  fail  to  be  free. 


174  POEMS. 

Kind  friends,  with  your  voices  of  tenderest  love, 
And  eyes  full  of  pity,  now  tell  me,  I  pray, 
If  I  were  not  accounted  of  worth  above, 
Would  the  hammer  of  God  smite  my  soul  in  this  way; 
Heaven  loves  me,  I  say ; 

And  takes  the  soft  roses  from  under  my  feet, 
And  bristles  my  way  with  the  brier  and  thorn  : 
Is  it  not  through  such  pain  that  a  soul  grows  com 
plete — 

Its  conception  perfects — -and  through  travail  forlorn 
That  an  angel  is  born  ? 

When  our  bird  of  the  Sun  shall  invincible  sit, 
In  a  triumph  sublime  over  Tyranny's  hounds, 
When  America  stands  a  great  wrong  to  acquit, 
And  pours  oil  and  wine  into  Africa's  wounds, 
When  gladness  abounds, 

When  the  eyes  of  wife,  maiden,  and  mother  shall  flash 
A  lightning  of  joy,  their  brave  soldiers  to  see, 
When  the  sword  is  put  off,  and  unknotted  the  sash, 
And  children  can  climb  to  the  patriot's  knee, 
Is  there  nothing  for  me  ? 

O  grand  spirit  pinions,  through  bravery  below 
Took  on  up  above,  downward  dip  to  my  side  ! 
Love  draws  with  a  strength  that 's  divine  ;  and  I  know 
When  God  makes  a  marriage,  His  word  must  abide ;  — 
Even  Death  can't  divide. 


So  I  walk  on  the  marge  of  the  life  that 's  unseen, 
Joining  hands  with  two  worlds.     Friends  need  not 

forbear 
Through  pity  their  smiles.    Why,  the  earth  is  more 

green 
For  one  grave  in  't  to  me !    and   my  treasure  's  up 

there, 
Beyond  all  impair. 

O  nail-printed  hands,  gather  into  thy  strength 
My  feeble  earth  ringers  !  and  forehead  divine, 
Thorn-pierced,  light  before  me  the  way,  till  at  length 
On  my  eyes,  weak  and  weary  with  watching,  shall 

shine 
His  glory  and  thine* 


Jfl7  my  soul  has  a  king,  it  knows  wall  where  to  find 

:  him, 

J       Though    Fate    guards  the    secret  with  vigilant 

care ; 
And  I  patiently  wait  with  the  crown  Love  has  twined 

him  ; 
God  tells  me  the  place,  and  I  know  he  is  there ; 


POEMS. 

Where  Liberty's  eagle, 
From  Tyranny's  beagle, 
Has  torn  out  the  heart,  I  shall  find  him  —  my  king. 

He  wears  not  a  badge  upon  bosom  or  shoulder, 

As  sign  of  distinction  ;  but  angels  can  see, 
Throughout    army  and  host  not  an  arm  can  strike 

bolder 

For  Country,  and  Justice,  and  Freedom  than  he. 
Not  choosing  his  mission, 
For  gain  or  position, 

He  counts  with  our  saviors  —  that  private  —  my 
king, 

And  he  thinks  every  foot  is  the  foot  of  a  brother, 

That  follows  the  light  of  the  Federal  stars  : 
Though  darker  the  brow,  or  the  race  is  another, 
The  manhood 's  proved  under  the  red  and  white 
bars 

"  Who  bears  well  a  rifle, 

Rebellion  to  stifle, 
Is  brother  and  man,"  —  says  the  voice  of  my  king. 

His  strong,  tawny  hand,  labor-hardened,  is  royal ! 
Lip,  touch  with  thy  honey  and  velvet  his  palm ! 
The  pulse  'neath  his  blue  coat  is  steadily  loyal ; 
O  Love  in  my  breast,  save  thy  odor  and  balm ! 
With  thy  wealth  clothe  and  cover 
My  grand  hero-lover ! 
Bring  out  thy  hid  treasures  I  Anoint  him  my  king  1 


POEMS.  177 

His  feet  will  not  halt  on  the  wearisome  marches, 

Nor  falter  from  duty,  nor  loiter  for  rest ; 
But  forward,  till  Liberty's  bow  overarches 
Columbia's  soil  from  the  cast  to  the  west. 
O  soldier  feet  speeding, 
Though  shoeless  and  bleeding ! 
I  bow  to  thy  footprints  !     I  kneel  to  my  king  ! 

Forget  not,  my  soul,  in  thy  pure  adoration, 

That  brave  ones  will  perish,  and  heroes  must  fall ! 
T  is  true  blood  alone  that  can  ransom  the  nation, 
And  tranquilize  Justice  for  Africa's  thrall : 
For  the  crimson  that 's  given, 
Is  demanded  by  Heaven, 
Oh,  send  thy  Samaritans,  God,  to  my  king. 

Seek,  heavenly  Commission,  the  wounded  and  dying, 
Where  Liberty's  vanguard  Stands  firm  as  a  rock ; 
Where  the  old  banner  waves,  red  Rebellion  defying, 
And  our  eagle  soars  calm  o'er  the  fierce  battle 
shock ! 

Oh  seek  and  recover 
My  own  hero-lover ! 
Thou  blessed  Evangel,  restore  me  my  king ! 


178  POEMS. 


ear. 
& 

1864. 

A  PEED,  waiting  days  of  thought  and 
$  Nor  linger  here  ! 

*j     O  heart,  with  every  throb  a  prayer, 
The  weary  night  is  nearly  through ! 
There  comes  a  flush  of  dawn  for  you, 
Another  year. 

Sing,  little  snow-bird,  perched  upon 

The  briar  near ! 
You  twitter  to  the  winter  sun, 
Yet  cannot  tell,  with  chirp  and  cheep. 
One  half  the  joy  that  I  shall  reap, 

Another  year. 

Worm,  tenant  of  the  chrysalis  I 

Through  your  close  sphere, 
Draw  splendor  out  of  Nature's  kiss  f 
Suck  beauty  for  unquickened  wing  t 
Come  out  in  rainbow  covering, 
Another  year. 

And  thorny  bush,  with  here  and  there 

A  leaflet  sere, 
Your  penetralia  set  with  care  t 


POEMS.  179 

From  light  and  breezes,  rain  and  snows, 
Evolve  for  me  a  bridal  rose, 
Another  year ! 

The  runlet,  with  an  icy  marge, 

Falls  low  and  clear  ; 

But  April  warmed,  't  will  swell  and  charge 
Adown  the  meadow  in  such  glee, 
It  will  not  seem  to  sob  with  me, 

Another  year. 

From  out  the  hemlock-feathered  hill, 

Purple  and  clear, 
The  purest  vapor  will  distil : 
Intenser  glories  shall  arise, 
To  drape  and  fringe  the  lucid  skies, 

Another  year. 

The  undeveloped  flower-cup 

Will  persevere, 

And  rear  its  scented  chalice  up  :  — 
Embalming  all  its  heart-cells  through 
With  sweetness,  just  as  I  shall  do, 

Another  year. 

Shall  do  for  him  who  stands  erect 

With  fire  and  spear, 
To  baffle  Tyranny's  elect ; 
Who  comes  with  our  victorious  stars,— 
My  hero  of  a  dozen  scars  — 

Another  year. 


i8o  POEMS, 

Where  the  gray  mountain's  granite  crest 

And  brow  appear, 

Our  monarch  bird  shall  preen  his  breast, 
And  all  true  people  glorify 
His  conquering  wing,  and  heaven-raised  eye, 

Another  year. 

And  Freedom's  story  winds  shall  bear 

Across  the  mere  : 
Reaching  a  lion-people's  lair  : 
And  they  shall  wake,  and  rouse,  and  strain, 
Testing  the  full  length  of  their  chain, 

Another  year. 

And  Old  World  strangers  at  the  gate, 

Shall  lose  their  sneer, 
And  muffle  with  respect  their  hate  : 
Knowing,  Earth-thrones  howe'er  so  high, 
Are  still  below  our  Eagle's  eye, 

Another  year. 

And  where  our  own  symbolic  stars, 

Blood-washed  appear, 
With  the  suggestive  crimson  bars, 
Men  shall  not  say  we  boast  a  lie, 
And  flaunt  it  under  God's  blue  sky, 

Another  year. 

America,  cleansed  out  to  snow, 

Cannot  adhere 
To  polities  that  smeer  her  so  : 


POEMS. 

She  '11  give  her  children  such  a  creed. 
As  men  are  martyrs  for  at  need 
Another  year, 

A  creed  to  prove,  to  sense  and  sight, 

The  one  Idea, 

For  which  the  Federal  heroes  fights 
'T  will  shine  a  never  setting  sun, 
When  Freedom  shall  be  twenty-one, 

Another  yean 

A  creed  that  leaves  no  captive  eye 

To  shed  a  tear : 

Then  Freedom  will  not  live  to  sigh, 
But  wreathed  from  her  own  olive  tree, 
Will  sit  in  white  and  smile  with  me, 

Another  year. 


ntn    of    fbrtrifi 


,  the  weariness  attending  a  suspense  that  is  un- 

broken ! 
Oh,  the  feeble  ray  of  courage  every  morning  when 

we  wake! 

Oh,  the  dreariness  of  watching  for  a  letter  or  a  token, 
And  the  loneliness  of  silence  that  we  cannot  pierce 
or  break  J 


i82  POEMS. 

To  wait,  and  look,  and  listen  for  the  soldier  home 

returning, 
Till  the  head  is  tired  and  dizzy,  and  the  pulse  is 

throbbing  sore, 
And  the  heavy-hearted  bosom  with  a  single  wish  is 

burning, 

And  prayer  is  but  the  one  loved  name  repeated 
o'er  and  o'er. 

The  Autumn  had  returned  again.     I  looked  out  for 

his  coming, 
The  lace-work  of  the  candy- tuft,  the  fuchsia's  pink 

and  snow, 
No  longer  wooed  the  butterfly,  nor  brought  the  wild 

bee  humming, 

And  'tween  its  banks  of  withered  sedge  the  brook 
was  falling  low. 

The  death-moth  fluttered  languidly,  the  larva  spun 

its  fetter, 

And  ghostly  shadows  flitted  on  the  hills  of  indigo  ; 
Oh,  blind  and  foolish  one  to  hope,  when  Nature  told 

me  better ! 

If  he  was  near,  what  poet-eye  would  find  her  look 
ing  so  ? 

And  yet  my  heart,  unteachable,  arrayed  in  contradic 
tion, 

In  tone  of  sweet   expectancy  kept  up  a  cheerful 
hum  ; 


POEMS.  183 

And  undismayed  in  face  and  front  of  Nature's  clear 

eviction, 

Kept  singing  and  repeating,  "  He  will  come,  he 
will  come ! " 

And  round  my  lip  the  dimples  met  to  welcome  back 

the  comer  ; 
And  in  my  eyes  were  set  the  stars  anticipation 

raised ; 
And  in  my  hair  I  twined  the  last  late  blossoms  of 

the  summer, 

And  daily  o'er  my  bosom  clasped  the  garment  he 
had  praised. 

But  morning  flushed,  and  mid-day  shone,  and  star 
light  came  and  ended, 
Week  after  week,  until  my  soul  no  longer  hushed 

its  moan : 
Yet  clinging  to  a  slender  thread  of  hope  it  hung  sus 

pended, 

And  would  not  say  "  He  has  passed  on,  and  I  am 
left  alone." 

But  when  the  icicles  hung  down,  and  winter  winds 

were  beating, 
And  feathery  stars  and  crystals  sharp  were  heaped 

about  the  door, 
The  firm  foot  of  my  courage  'gan  a  slow  but  sure 

retreating, 

Though  all  my  being  called  to  it  to  rally  yet  once 
more. 


184  POEMS. 

Oh,  who  could  tell  me  surely  if  with  angels  he  trod 

lightly 
The  milky-way  mosaic,  and  the  star-grains  of  the 

skies ! 

Or  was  his  soulheroic  in  a  skeleton  held  tightly, 
That  from  a  rebel  prison   gazed  with  large  and 
hungry  eyes. 

A  fellow-comrade  had    averred,  that  when  a   shout 

was  ringing, 

Of  triumph  o'er  the  foe,  he  saw  my  brave  fall  sud 
den  down  ; 
A  shattered  head  and  face  he  found,  and  'round  the 

temples  clinging, 

Were  locks  that  wore  the  same  rich  shade  of  gold 
wrought  into  brown. 

But  yet  I  said  that  other  forms  my  hero's  might  re 
semble, 
And  majesty  akin  might  other  sons  of  Freedom 

wear ; 
And  'round  the  brows  of  other  youths  a  sunbeam  love 

to  tremble, 

And  glance  about  and  nestle  in  the  meshes  of  their 
hair. 

But  when  the  bees  adventurous,  among  the  willows 

yellow, 

Began  to  suck  the  buds,  and  Spring  had  cleared 
her  throat  of  snow, 


POEMS.  185 

And  every  blue-bird  twittered  in  love  lyrics   to  its 

fellow, 

Then  heaven  and  earth  in  pity,  both  essayed  to 
let  me  know. 

And  raised  their  mystic  symbols,  and  sent  tapping 

to  my  casement, 
A  little  bird  with  scarlet  crest,  and  wings  of  blue 

and  white ; 

Again,  and  yet  again  he  pierced  the  woodbine  inter 
lacement, 

Then  sped  away  towards  the  South,  with  swift  and 
sudden  flight. 

And  then  I  saw  the  Universe  was  holding  out  its 

pledges 
Of  truth  to  me,  from  azure  arch  to  violet-trimmed 

sward ; 
The  sky  was  clear  for  angel  wings,  and  'round  the 

tinted  edges, 

Hung  gold  and  purple  fringes  of  the  garment  of 
the  Lord. 

And  insect  wings   enwrought  with  stars,  about  the 

garden  hovered ; 
And  honey-suckles   opened  into  red,  and  white, 

and  blue : 
The  green  earth  loved  the  patriot  her  crowded  bosom 

covered, 

And  this  the  sign  she  raised  for  me,  to  prove  that 
she  was  true. 


iS6  POEMS. 

And  over  all  the  landscape  came  a  flushing  soft  and 

tender ; 
A  baptism  of  crimson  fell  along  the  mountains 

grand ; 

For  Nature  aimed  to  typify  by  this  outpouring  splen 
dor, 

The  martyr-blood  that  flowed  for  the  redemption 
of  the  land. 

And  while  the  red  sun  folded   me  in  his  unusual 

glory, 
I  gathered  up  the  secret,  heaven  and  earth  essayed 

to  tell ; 

And  resting  on  the  sure  interpretation  of  the  story, 
I  bent  myself  to  Nature's  ear,  and  whispered  "  It 
is  well" 

Now  when  for  Freedom's  victory,  triumphant  bells 

are  ringing, 
And  joy-booms  from  the  cannon  break  the  silence 

and  the  calm, 
I  think  my  hero's  angel-plumes  are  close  about  me 

winging, 

And  clear  though  all  the  chiming,  catch  the  echo 
of  his  psalm* 

And  always  when  the  mountains  stand  transfigured 

with  such  brightness, 

Although  I  cannot  see  his  wings,  nor  feel  them 
flutter  near, 


POEMS.  iJ7 

Vet  back  the  dimples  come  again,  I  feel  the  old-time 

lightness, 

And  soft  my  heart  goes  singing,  "  He  is  here,  he  is 
here." 


fHERE  art  thou,  O  my  heart,  upon  this  night 
Of  music  and  festivity  —  this  eve 
All  silver  with  the  moonlight,  and  encrowned 
With  glorious  stars  that  throb  in  measure  with 
The  light  feet  of  the  dancers  ?     Oh,  not  there 
Where  Youth  and  Beauty  with  sweet  witcheries 
Enchant  the  night,  and  waltz  the  morning  in. 
But  in  the  quiet  of  my  humble  room 
I  sit,  and  thou,  fond  heart,  on  double  wings 
Of  love  and  prayer,  dost  take  a  distant  flight, 
Seeking  for  precious  feet,  unfaltering  feet, 
That  follow  at  the  martial  trumpet's  call, 
And  move  unto  the  battle's  dissonance  ! 
Searching  for  one  heroic  brow  whose  white 
May  tempt  the  shaft  of  Death  :  for  light  brown  locks 
Just  dipped  in  sunshine ;  for  courageous  eyes 
Whose  clear  deeps  testify  of  heaven  and  God  ; 
For  a  great  loyal  heart,  that,  loving  thee, 
Still  dares  to  die  for  country  ! 


i88  POEMS. 

O  my  God ! 

\fear  to  ask,  that,  'mong  the  countless  lights 
Still  sinking  in  the  crimson  stream  of  war,  — 
Those  myriad  stars,  each  dear  to  some  true  heart, 
My  own  may  be  unnumbered.     'Twixt  Thy  will 
And  mine,  let  not  that  glorious  vision  rise, 
Which  all  the  majesty  of  valor  wears, 
Whose  soul  is  truth's  detective,  whose  firm  lips 
Hold  in  abeyance  radiant  smiles  that  hint 
Of  paradise  and  spring-time  !     Human  love, 
My  Father,  let  not  stand  'tween  me  and  Thee ! 
But  this  I  ask  for  my  beloved  one  : 
A  strength  and  grace  from  Thee  to  drink  his  cup 
Of  suffer  ing  and  peril,  aye  of  death 
If  need  be,  and  that  earnest  he  may  seek 
The  precious  fountain  of  Eternal  Life, 
Turning  forever  Christ-ward  while  he  walks 
Bravely  his  road  of  danger.     There  's  no  gift, 
No  higher  boon  or  blessing  I  can  ask 
For  my  heart's  idol,  in  this  prayer  of  mine. 
And  for  myself,  my  Father,  give  to  me 
A  fortitude  to  drain  the  bitterest  draught 
Thy  hand  may  hold,  a  cheerful  willingness 
To  wear  these  lines  which  anxious  love  and  thought 
Are  carving  on  my  brow,  a  readiness 
To  walk  in  shadow  that  my  Country's  way 
May  lie  in  light,  and,  just  for  Freedom's  sake, 
A  resignation  to  put  on  my  black 
That  she  may  reign  in  white  ! 


POEMS.  189 


1865. 

fHE  faith  that  burned  on  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
Through  trial  and  test,  is  rewarded  with  sight : 
The  hosts  of  oppression  are  scattered  and  strewn, 
The  lowly  exalted,  the  tyrant  o'erthrown  ;  — 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

With  heel  on  the  captive,  and  pride  in  his  eye, 
The  head  of  the  traitor  was  haughty  and  high  ; 
But  the  arm  of  Jehovah  made  ready  his  bow, 
And  swift  were  his  arrows  ;  the  proud  are  brought  low  j 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

The  treasure  amassed  by  the  toil  of  the  slave, 
Is  swept  and  engulphed  in  the  battle's  red  wave  ; 
The  wealth  of  the  master  the  fire-demon  rends, 
And  dreadful  the  smoke  of  his  torment  ascends  :  — 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

And  justice  is  grafted  on  tyranny's  rod, 
And  evil  is  forced  into  witness  for  God  ; 
The  lackeys  of  wrong  are  made  servants  of  right, 
And  Freedom  and  Truth  walk  together  in  white ;  — 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 


I9o  POEMS. 

Wave,  banner,  thy  glorious  symbols  to-day  ! 
Float,  pennon,  triumphant  forever  and  aye  ! 
Beneath  thee  unfolds  the  millennial  plan, 
The  chattel  is  changed  to  a  brother  and  man !  — 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

Sing,  sweet  April  blue-bird,  oh,  sing  it  with  me, 
A  pean  of  joy  for  a  land's  jubilee  ! 
And  odorous  winds,  on  your  volatile  cars, 
Bear  the  freight  of  our  rapturous  song  to  the  stars  ! 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

Leap,  stream  of  the  woodland !  charge  down  to  the  sea, 
And  babble  the  story  through  forest  and  lea ; 
And  gray  ocean-billow,  break,  break  on  the  shore, 
With  a  grand  intonation  that  tells  evermore  — 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

Bend  nearer,  blue  sky,  that  your  clear  arch  may  ring, 
And  echo  the  jubilant  anthem  we  sing  ! 
Float  low,  angels,  low !  for  the  purified  air 
Of  the  world  will  not  tarnish  the  crowns  that  ye  wear ; 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 

O,  conquering  Spring  that  we  prayed  to  behold, 
How  royal  thy  mantle  of  azure  and  gold  ! 
We  hail  thee  as  herald  of  rest  and  release, 
For  thy  beautiful  hand  hath  the  seed-bud  of  Peace  ; 
God  reigns  in  the  earth. 


BRANCHES   OF  PALM. 

BY  MRS.  J.  S.  ADAMS. 

Price,  —  Cloth,plain,  $1.25.     Cloth,  full  gilt,  $1 .75. 

"  Under  various  religious  aud  poetical  headings,  the  writer  has  given 
ehort  meditations,  aphorisms,  and  sentences,  interspersed  with  some 
quite  musical  verses.  They  are  all  bathed  in  a  pure  and  modest  feel 
ing:  nothing- strained  or  affected,  nothing  ambitious,  mars  the  gentle 
page.  A  true  woman's  heart,  that  has  apparently  passed  through  much 
suffering  unscathed,  pours  out  its  riches  of  humility,  reliance  upon 
God,  and  fervid  hopes.  Every  utterance  is  sweet  and  healthy."  —  llev. 
John  Weiss,  in  the  "  Radical,'1''  Boston. 

"  Alike  in  prose  utterances  and  in  verse,  Mrs.  Adams  has  given  forth 
those  profounder  sentiments  which  are  the  product  only  of  illuminated 
moments.  They  will  be  found  to  answer  to  everyone  of  the  multiplied 
needs  of  the  soul.  Are  you  weary  ?  These  pages  abound  with  refresh 
ment  for  the  human  spirit.  Are  you  perplexed,  aud  given  to  irritation 
of  thought  ?  Here  are  to  be  found  those  genuine  tranquillizing  influ 
ences,  begotten  of  a  truly  tranquil  and  self-poised  soul,  which  will 
speedily  restore  to  strength  again.  Are  you  slack  of  faith,  feeling  as  if 
the  brighter  world  had  gone  into  an  eternal  eclipse  ?  Head  this  book 
trustfully  and  devoutly,  and  the  stars  will  all  shine  out  thickly  over  the 
sky  of  life  again.  On  these  pages  is  recorded  something  for  the  heart 
of  mortal  in  every  mood,  under  every  trial.  None  can  have  descended 
so  deeply  into  the  abyss  of  wretchedness  that  these  sayings  cannot 
bring  them  safely  up  into  the  bright  day  of  hope  again ;  none  can  have 
been  borne  to  such  a  height  of  ecstasy  either,  that  among  these  beau- 
tiful  utterances  they  cannot  discover  a  spirit  which  is  ready  and  glad 
to  accompany  them,  doubling  their  delights  on  the  soul-exalting  way." 
Banner  of  Light,  Boston. 

"  A  book  full  of  sweet  influences  as  an  seolian  harp  of  sweet  music. 
It  is  both  prose  and  poetry;  but  the  former  is  poetic,  and  the  latter  has 
the  strength  of  prose.  The  articles  are  brief  and  various;  yet,  though 
written  on  different  themes,  they  have  the  same  key-note,  and  sound 
like  parts  of  one  grand  symphony."  —  Ladies'  Repository,  Boston. 

"  The  taste,  eloquence,  and  piety  combined  in  these  pages  will  com 
mend  the  work  to  thousands  who  are  longing  for  the  consolations  and 
inspirations  it  may  afford."  —  Home  Journal,  New  York. 

Mailed  postpaid.  ADAMS  «fe  CO.,  Publishers, 

25  Bromfield  St.,  Boston. 


CHOICE     POEMS. 

HIGHLAND    RAMBLES. 

A    POEM. 
BY  TF.V.  Ii.    WRIGHT $1.25. 

"  '  Highland  Rambles '  entitles  its  author  to  a  seat,  which  he  attains  by 
one  bound,  among-the  first  American  j>oets,  and  contains  many  passages, 
which,  to  our  thinking,  none  of  the  new-world  bards  have  equalled  in 
beauty  or  depth  of  thought.  That  its  transcendent  merits  will  be  imme 
diately  recognized  we  scarcely  believe ;  for  the  people  are  always  slow  to 
welcome  the  advent  of  the  inspired  seer.  But  justice  will  come  in  time." 
—  Courier,  Buffalo,  N.  T. 

"We  had  heard  whispers  of  the  coming  of  this  volume,  — and  from 
Boston  publishers,  with  the  prestige  of  Mr.  Emerson's  approbation ;  but 
we  confess  we  were  not  prepared  for  the  apparently  boundless  wealth  of 
thought  and  feeling,  the  profusion  of  beautiful  descriptions  and  illustra 
tion,  nor  for  the  elegance,  the  finish,  the  grace  and  polish  of  the  lan 
guage  and  manner  of  this  daring  young  poet's  first  attempt."  —  Buffalo 
Express. 

"A  charming  green  and  golden  volume,  with  tinted  leaves,  —  as  freeh 
and  attractive  in  contents  as  the  opening  buds  and  flowers  of  spring.  It 
contains  many  gems  that  glitter  and  glow  with  the  sparkles  and  charmg 
of  true  poetry."  —  Budget,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

"  A  dainty  volume,  charmingly  poetical  in  getting  up,  and  containing 
one  of  the  very  best  poems  of  the  year.  —  Item,  Philadelphia. 

THE    INNER    MYSTERY. 

AN    INSPIRATIONAL    POEM. 
BY  LIZZIE  DOTEN      .        ....        .        .        $O.3S. 

This  poem  was  delivered  in  Boston  Music  Hall,  and  was  listened  to 
with  intense  interest  by  one  of  the  largest  audiences  ever  assembled  in 
Boston.  Beautiful  and  unique  in  imagery,  startling  in  its  bold  concep 
tion  of  newly-developed  truths,  and  apt  in  its  presentation  of  them,  it 
finds  thousands  of  appreciative  readers. 

"  Contains  perfect  gems  of  poetry." — Journal  of  Commerce,  Chicago. 

POEMS. 

BY  AUGUSTA  COOPER  BRISTOL        .        .        .        $1.25. 

All  of  the  above  are  in  fine  cloth  bindings.  Copies  will  be  mailed, post 
paid,  on  receipt  of  price. 

ADAMS  &  CO.,  Publishers,  25  Bromfield  Street,  Boston. 


DAWN. 


A  NOVEL PRICE,  $3.60. 


"  The  world  will  perhaps  pronounce  the  philosophy  of  this  book  sen 
timental,  and  in  its  treatment  of  social  evils  that  are  made  sacred  by 
conventional  neglect  see  a  threat  of  harm;  but  its  views  are  sound, 
nevertheless,  and  tiie  truth  will  bear  its  weight.  DAWN,  the  heroine, 
is  a  woman  with  a  mission,  —  a  true,  gentle,  loving  creature,  led  by 
the  higher  and  purer  iniluences  through  severe  experiences,  but  sow 
ing  seed  of  good,  and  strewing  flowers  along  the  way  she  goes  with  an 
abandon  of  unseliishness.  She  presents  in  herself  a  model  of  spiritual 
graces  that  ray  her  as  the  ancient  painters  portrayed  their  saints;  and 
the  world  would  be  better  if  it  had  more  tuch  teachers  as  she  is  repre- 
eented  to  be."  —  Patriot,  Barnstable,  Mass. 

"  This  work  bears  the  sharp,  decisive  impress  of  thoughts  which 
strike  out  like  pioneers  towards  new  social  and  religious  platforms. 
As  a  part  of  a  wide-spread  movement  of  the  age  in  the  investigation  of 
mental  phenomena,  and  the  nature  and  powers  of  the  human  spirit, 
it  will  largely  attract  public  attention.  It  is  vigorous  and  terse  in  style, 
its  characters  are  clearly  individualized,  and  its  pages  sparkle  here  and 
there  with  gems  of  wisdom." —  Chronicle,  Penn  Yan,  N.  Y. 

"  Whoever  the  writer  may  be,  either  he  or  she  has  written  a  very  in 
teresting'  and  spiritual  book,  that  deals  keenly  and  analytically  with  the 
inner  sentiments  of  the  soul,  and  touches  the  profoundest  depths  of  the 
human  heart,  portraying  with  graceful  pen  the  finer  and  subtler  sensi 
bilities  and  passions.  The  book  is  moral  and  spiritual  in  tone,  and 
should  command  a  wide  circle  of  readers."  —  Northern  Budget,  Troy, 

"  As  a  tale,  this  book  possesses  unusual  interest,  from  its  characters 
and  characteristics ;  and  it  is  not  putting  our  estimate  of  it  too  high  to 
say  that  it  will  gradually  take  rank  very  near  to  that  singular  novel, 
4  Jane  Eyre.'  It  is  barely  possible  that  the  ideas  of  the  gifted  author 
may,  in  some  instances,  be  thought  too  radical,  even  to  the  verge  of 
rashness,  socially  considered;  but,  as  the  reader  becomes  familiar  with 
its  positions  and  purposes,  he  will  discover  that  it  is  all  but  in  advocacy 
of  that  advance  movement  which  forms  the  characteristic  of  this  active 
time."  —  Banner  of  Light,  Boston. 

"  Whether  by  a  new  hand,  or  by  an  old  hand  writing  anonymously,  is 
more  than  we  know;  nor  does  it  signify  much,  provided  the  matter 
furnished  the  reader  is  good,  as  it  is  in  this  instance.  The  tale  is  clev 
erly  planned,  and  as  cleverly  executed ;  and  the  tone  of  the  work  is 
high  and  well  sustained."  —  Traveller,  Boston. 

"  Truly  a  most  thrilling  and  wonderful  book.  The  plot  is  well  laid 
and  the  story  intensely  interesting.  But  few  who  read  the  first  chap 
ter  will  willingly  relinquish  the  book  until  it  has  been  perused  through 
out." —  Free  Press,  Galesburg,  III. 

"  We  consider  this  work  one  of  the  most  readable  publications  of  the 
present  time."—  City  Item,  Phila. 

"  A  novel  novel,  somewhat  out  of  the  usual  character  of  such  works." 
—  Journal,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

Mailed  postpaid.  ADAMS  «fc  CO.,  Publishers, 

25  Bromfield  St.,  Boston. 


JOAN    OF    ARC. 

A  BIOGRAPHY. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  Miss  S.  M.  Grimke. 

Embellished  with  a  Photograph  Portrait,  copied  from  the  celebrated 
Painting  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Louvre,  Paris;  and  a  map  of  Northern 
France,  showing  the  places  rendered  memorable  by  events  connected 
with  her  life.  PRICE,  $1.00. 

"  No  one  tires  of  reading  of  JOAN  OF  ARC.  Her  life  is  wonderful,  her 
deeds  unaccountable,  her  mission  a  mystery.  This  volume  simply  nar 
rates  the  story  of  her  childhood,  her  mysterious  inspiration,  her  con 
summate  skill  in  arms,  and  her  immortal  successes.  *  *  *  *  It  is  the 
most  pleasing  book  we  have  perused  for  many  a  day.  There  is  nothing 
prosy  or  wearisome  about  it."  —  Morning  Herald,  Utica,  N.  Y. 

"  A  veritable  history  of  the  '  Maid  of  Orleans; '  a  spirited  narrative 
of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  passages  in  history,  —  one  that  proves 
the  adage,  that  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.  Tiie  story  is  wonderful 
to  the  most  superiicial  and  the  most  thoughtful  minds." — Christian 
Advocate,  New  York. 

"  This  new  biography  is  adorned  with  a  wondrously  beautiful  portrait 
of  Joan,  which  is  worth  of  itself  all  the  book  costs."  —  Times,  Troy, 
N.Y. 

"  The  marvellous  story  of  JOAX  OF  ARC  was  never  told  in  English 
in  a  more  pleasing  style  than  in  this  biography."  —  Liberal  Christian, 
New  York. 

"  It  presents  in  a  succinct  and  animated  form  the  leading  events  of 
her  career,  and  the  striking  traits  of  her  character,  and  is  probably  the 
best  popular  account  we  have  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  the  English  language." 
—  Standard,  New  Bedford,  Mass. 

"  Joan's  career  was  so  romantic  that  Its  events  would  be  deemed  in 
credible  were  they  not  established  by  incontrovertible  historical  evi 
dence  ;  and  in  this  volume  her  biographer  has  displayed  great  power 
in  describing  her  exciting  adventures  and  tragical  fate."  —  Gazette, 
Cincinnati. 

"  This  is  a  biography  of  thrilling  interest.  Joan  of  Arc  was  undenia 
bly  a  very  exceptional  and  wonderful  character,  having  scarcely  a  par 
allel  in  the  annals  of  history."  — .ffome  Journal,  New  York. 

Mailed  postpaid.  ADAMS  d&  CO.,  Publishers, 

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YOUTH'S 
HISTORY   OF  THE   REBELLION. 


BY    WM.    M.    THAYEB, 

Four  Vols.  —  I.  Stunter  to  Roanoke.    II.  Roanoke  to 

Murfreesboro.'     JIT.  Murfreesboro'  to   Fort 

Pillow.    IV.  Fort   Pillow   to   the   end. 

Sixteen  Full- Page  Illustrations. 

Price  complete  in  a  box, 

Six   Dollars. 


THIS  "  HISTORY  OF  THE  REBELLION  "  contains  the  substance  of  the  larger 
works ;  so  that  families  unable  or  disinclined  to  purchase  the  histories  made  large 
and  expensive  by  the  introduction  of  public  documents,  long  speeches,  &c.,  —  which 
few  care  or  have  time  to  read,  —  will  find  the  present  a  valuable  and  reliable  History, 
for  the  elder  portions  of  the  family  as  well  as  the  younger. 

Of  the  first  volume,  published  last  spring,  5000  were  sold  the  month  of  publica 
tion,  and  the  work  has  been  regularly  in  demand  ever  since.  It  has  been  noticed 
with  great  favor  by  the  press  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  from  Maine  to  Minnesota. 

The  Cambridge  Chronicle  says,  —  u  The  clearness  of  the  style  is  particularly  no 
ticeable.  All  the  prominent  events  of  the  war  are  here  recorded ;  and  the  materials 
being  obtained  from  reliable  sources,  make  it  a  most  valuable  abridgment  of  the  more 
voluminous  histories  of  the  rebellion  now  extant ;  while  its  moderate  price  brings  it 
within  the  pecuniary  reach  of  all." 

The  Western  Episcopalian  (Ohio)  remarks,  —  "This  is  an  excellent  publication, 
well  and  attractively  gotten  up.  ...  As  fitted  especially  to  interest  and  inform  our 
boys  and  girls  with  respect  to  whatever  concerns  this  vast  national  struggle ;  as  gener 
ally  adapted,  by  its  cheapness  and  condensation,  for  general  circulation,  —  it  is  well 
worthy  of  public  patronage." 

"  This  History,  so  far  as  this  volume  carries  it,  is  admirably  narrated,  in  a  con 
versational  form,  and  will  be  read  with  almost  as  much  interest  by  parents  as  by 
children.  It  has  been  handsomely  published  with  illustrations."  —  Buffalo  Morning 
Express. 

"  Mr.  THAYEK  has  published  many  most  commendable  volumes  for  the  young ; 
but  we  esteem  the  above,  one  of  his  most  instructive  and  useful.  This  work  contains 
the  substance  of  the  more  voluminous  histories,  and,  in  its  entirety,  has  the  merit 
of  being  thoroughly  authentic.  This,  in  addition  to  the  stirring  recital  of  facts  and 
Incidents  of  personal  experience,  makes  the  narrative  a  desirable  addition  to  our 
literature."  —  Home  Journal. 

We  could  fill  pages  with  similar  commendatory  notices  from  the  best  sources. 

MAILED  POST-PAID. 

ADAJMtt    <5&   CO.,   Publishers, 

25  BROMFIELD  STREET,  Boston. 


M191800 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


